


The Promise

by The_Audacity



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29595051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Audacity/pseuds/The_Audacity
Summary: Ichigo interrupts a group of bullies harassing a classmate and steps in to help out. Only problem is the victim doesn’t want to be saved.
Relationships: Ishida Uryuu & Kurosaki Ichigo
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Someone requested this prompt forever ago but I wasn’t sure I could write an in-character Ishida for this scenario. Either way, I like how the story turned out and I hope you do, too!
> 
> Theme songs: “Swallow the Knife” by Story of the Year, “Be Still and Breathe” by Ivoryline, and “Changing” by Saosin

The sun is still beaming proudly by mid-afternoon. A flock of birds streaks past patches of fluffy, indolent clouds crossing the vibrant azure hemisphere above. Delicate sakura blossoms shiver on the tenuous perch of waving branches jostled by an early spring breeze. Laughter echoes across the school’s vacated grounds. Verdant grass whispers underfoot as Ichigo curiously follows the unexpected sound around a corner of the tall grey building. Another noise, like crunching gravel and shattered melon, hastens his stride toward a shaded corner near the soccer field he and his teammates left just ten minutes ago.

Ichigo draws to a stunned halt at what he witnesses there.

Face-down on the close-cropped lawn, bloody and defeated, lies a single student amid nearly a dozen towering ominously over him. They take turns shouting taunts and aiming kicks, guffawing at the boy’s weak attempts to shield himself. Their victim does not scream or beg or cry. Doesn’t threaten or glare or grumble. His body defensively curls in on itself, an automatic reflex spurred by pain and instinct, as he patiently waits for the blows to stop coming. That’s all.

Seeing the boy so resigned to the beating does something to Ichigo’s insides. They writhe and rage and burn until he has no choice but to rush headfirst into the melee.

“What the hell are you doing!?” he demands of the cackling bullies, yanking one of them back just before heel meets spine. “Get off him! Get off!”

The one Ichigo holds jerks free of his grip and turns to sneer, “None of your business what we’re—”

He bites back the remainder of his sentence to see who it is he challenges. Kurosaki Ichigo, they whisper among themselves, the Golden Boy of Karakura High. Well-loved by most, he excels at sports, academics, _and_ the complex social scene. The trifecta. One look and they know who they are dealing with. Ichigo isn’t as conceited as he should be, but even he knows his influence extends to these jerks, too.

“Get out of here, all of you!”

After the initial shock, one of the outliers sneaks forward to land another hit on the motionless form in the center of their makeshift ring, evoking a strained whoosh of air and nothing else. Ichigo stomps over to shove the opportunistic prick to the ground and jam his foot over an unguarded throat. A hushed round of murmurs sweeps the assembled troublemakers, warning of Ichigo’s fighting prowess and infamous short temper. The pinned assailant rasps in a breath to beg.

“Please…Kurosaki-san!”

Ignoring the strangled plea, Ichigo looks to the others and growls, “Why are you still here? Wanna be next? Huh!?”

The threat triggers a mass exodus, but not without a fair number of glowers directed his way. Several of them spit at their target, hissing vicious slurs and malicious vows of retribution as parting gifts. Ichigo lifts his leg and the student he pinned scrambles up to sprint after his fleeing compatriots. He watches them skitter off the premises like panicked cockroaches, shaking his head at their collective cowardice and malice. Bullying isn’t exactly uncommon in a typical high school setting, but what they’ve done to this boy…

Turning to appraise the person he rescued, Ichigo balks to see him still lying prone on the ground. He kneels beside the kid and tentatively touches palm to upper back.

“ _Don’t_ ,” is the immediate reaction.

“Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Pulling his hand back, Ichigo watches him slowly push to his knees, then rise to a shaky stand. Black hair, blue eyes, pale skin, lean figure, skewed glasses. Vaguely familiar. Their gazes meet and Ichigo blinks twice at the disdain he reads there. The boy wobbles and Ichigo moves to help steady him but his arms are roughly brushed aside.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Hey, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t keel over. Are you all right?” The bruised student scowls at his stupid question. Ichigo purses his lips in remorse and retries, “Listen, is there anything I can do? Someone you want me to call, or—”

“You shouldn’t have intervened,” he suddenly snaps.

Ichigo’s mouth falls open at that. “Of course I should have! They were all over you!”

“It is none of your concern!”

The fiery rejoinder costs him, sparking a nasty coughing fit from being bashed in the ribs a little too hard. Again, Ichigo moves to assist but he is adamantly blocked. In spite of the circumstance, this boy’s attitude is verging on pissing him off. Usually, victims of violent crime aren’t nearly so contrary toward their saviors.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice, you know.”

“ _Thanks_ ,” he flings the word like ammunition, pushing past Ichigo to stumble toward the school’s gate, “but you wasted your time since what you just interrupted has become a regular occurrence. At any rate, I’m fine now so you can go home.”

He follows the tattered guy, grabbing his forgotten messenger bag from a short distance away and jogging to catch up. Ichigo wordlessly offers the bag to its owner and isn’t surprised when it is silently snatched from his loose hold. A twinge of pain registers on the boy’s features as the strap settles over a shoulder.

“You’re ‘fine now’? Bullshit! Look at you…Are you sure nothing’s broken?”

“I’m sure.”

“But you—”

“Drop it, Kurosaki,” he snarls without turning to glance at Ichigo. “Go home to your family and forget about the pitiful plight of a nameless classmate.”

That has him going quiet for a moment. It is clear the boy mentioned his name and pointed out that Ichigo does not know his on purpose. A blatant emphasis on the dichotomy of their social importance. It’s true Ichigo has never been good with names or noticing people he doesn’t directly interact with. He’s working on it, all right? That doesn’t mean he can’t care about a ‘nameless classmate’ being senselessly bullied right in front of his eyes! They reach the gate and turn left, the opposite way he takes to get home.

“What’s your name?” No response. Ichigo skips ahead to walk backward in front of and slow the boy’s militant momentum. “You won’t even tell me that much? Do I have to ask around at school tomorrow?”

Visibly taken aback at the very suggestion, he reluctantly mutters, “Ishida Uryuu. Feel free to forget it.”

“Ishida, why were those guys attacking you? Did you do something to make them target you?”

“What kind of idiotic question is that? I did something to incite a twelve-man gang into taking shots at me after school?”

“You know I didn’t mean it that way! But there must be some reason they—”

“Leave it _alone_ , Kurosaki. It has nothing to do with you!”

Resisting the urge to groan aloud, Ichigo keeps pace beside him and thinks hard about the situation. He ponders what the others were yelling at Ishida as they rallied around his hunched form in shared triumph and disgust. _Faggot_. That’s what several of them said very clearly. Were they abusing Ishida purely out of rampant homophobia? Eyeing him for signs that it could be true, Ichigo observes nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that would mark him as a male interested in fellow males. Aside from an assortment of fresh cuts and bruises, Ishida’s appearance is well within the typical standards of someone his age. Not that sexual preference is so easy to discern from surface aesthetics.

“Are you—”

“Are you still here?” Ishida whips around to interject. He stops in the middle of the street to face Ichigo. “Do you intend to bully me, as well?”

“What? No!”

“Then leave me alone! Haven’t you done enough?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ishida lifts fingers to drag over his face in frustration and winds up smearing blood across the bridge of his nose. He twitches at a stab of pain from an aggravated cut there. Ichigo’s frown deepens.

“I’m not some side-show freak created to slake your curiosity! How dare you feign concern over someone whose name you couldn’t recall after more than two years sharing the same class? Just stay out of my life!”

The impending supernova behind those sharp eyes doesn’t deter him so much as the revelation that they really are classmates. Same year, same classroom, same thirty students in a small space day after day and Ichigo doesn’t even recognize the guy? Even for him, this is pathetic. He feels immensely guilty for it. Having delivered the killing blow, Ishida’s vitriolic expression evens into a practiced neutrality and he marches down the road without Ichigo dogging his steps any longer.

“Will you come to my party next weekend, Kurosaki-kun? Please say you will!”

“Yeah, it won’t be a great party unless you come!”

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Ichigo resists the urge to sigh in front of the two young women begging him to accept the invitation. These days he gets at least one per week. Don’t they understand he is already pretty busy with club activities, studying, and his part-time job? Not to mention his regular group of friends are always dragging him off to do things with them. Still, Ichigo keeps getting everyone from freshman he has never even seen before to seniors in his own class asking for his company. It’s flattering, in a way, but also more of a hindrance than they realize.

“Sorry,” he laments, doing his best to sound sincere, “I’ve got plans. Maybe next time.”

They coo and frown in disappointment but wander down the hall back to their homerooms nonetheless. That sigh he held back slips out as he turns to walk into his own classroom. Upon entering, his eyes inevitably seek out an increasingly familiar form, as they have been since last Friday’s awkward after-school meeting with Ishida Uryuu. He hasn’t forgotten the name.

Ichigo was a bit shocked to stride in the following Monday and immediately notice the reclusive boy at the back of the room, bent over his desk reading with his head down and his face shielded by a short curtain of dark hair, just as he is now. Ishida is certainly easy to miss when he puts his mind to it. But Ichigo has been surveying him all week and he has discovered that the kid doesn’t talk to anyone and no one talks to him. Even their sensei overlooks him after roll is called. Most days he doesn’t eat lunch. When he does, it is something small and cheap like pre-packaged bread or crackers quietly consumed at his desk. Ishida never goes to the cafeteria and rarely leaves the classroom if he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t do club activities and never volunteers for anything. The whole scenario reeks of solitude and Ichigo doesn’t like it at all.

Shaking him from his musings, Keigo bounds over to chat.

“What was that about, Ichigo? Those two girls asking you out again?”

“I guess so,” he distractedly confirms, watching Ishida turn a page in his book with minimal sound and movement, “to some party this weekend.”

“The same smoking hot juniors as last time? You turned them down? Are you nuts!?”

“Probably.”

His gaze reluctantly transfers to Keigo as he grabs Ichigo’s shirt flaps in exaggerated exasperation, crying, “Why!? Why do you do this to me? Do you know how hard it is to get an invitation from them? You’re supposed to accept and then bring me along so I can escape the monotony of a boring Saturday night playing video games at Mizuiro’s house _again_!”

“Crash their party if you want to go so bad,” advises Ichigo, knocking loose the grip on his shirt. “You don’t need me for that, do you?”

“But, but…”

Seeing his friend’s lip quivering theatrically, Ichigo rolls his eyes and says, “If it means that much to you, I’ll think about it. All right? Now, why don’t you go find the others on the roof while there’s still time to eat?”

Keigo’s dejected pout transforms into a wide grin. “Thanks, buddy! You’re the best!”

He flashes a quick thumbs-up and dashes through the door to meet everyone else for lunch. Ichigo brought a homemade bento, as usual, but he hesitates to grab it and head upstairs. Camouflaged in the corner, Ishida flips another page. His feet carry him forward before Ichigo consciously decides what he wants to do.

“Hey, Ishida.”

The boy is so startled to hear his name and see Ichigo standing in front of his desk that his book tumbles from his grasp to the floor with a soft clatter. Widened blue eyes meet determined brown, and that instant is all Ishida needs to regain his stoic composure. Ichigo stoops to pick up the fallen novel and set it on the desktop as a gesture of truce. Ishida doesn’t even glance at it.

“W-what do you want?” he cautiously queries, tapping severely scratched glasses back into place. It’s a wonder he can still see through the lenses.

“Why aren’t you eating lunch today?”

Eyebrows scrunch angrily and Ishida averts his gaze. His voice goes flat and harsh as he states, “That’s none of your business.”

“Is that your catch-phrase? Seems to be your favorite thing to say to me.”

“Seems to be the only relevant thing to say to you.”

Bending to prop against the desk at eye-level, Ichigo forces the boy to look at him in the hopes of dismantling some of the layers comprising Ishida’s impressive guard.

“I’m just asking if you’re hungry. Is that such an unforgivable question?” A muscle jumps in his jaw as he clenches it tighter, the only indication that Ishida is actually hearing him since he refuses to respond. “This is lunch time, after all. Are you on a diet? ‘Cause I’ll tell you right now you don’t need it.”

Those intense eyes bore into his, then flit around the room before returning to Ichigo’s. “Your classmates are watching, Kurosaki. Are you sure you can afford to have this petty argument in front of them?”

He barely twists to glance over his shoulder. Just as Ishida said, the dozen or so students who chose to stay in the room and eat are all staring at the two of them. Some of them are gossiping under their breath and behind secretive hands about the popular guy talking with the class outcast. Ichigo turns back to note a hint of smugness in the boy’s expression. Apparently, Ishida believes a threat to his social standing is enough to scare him away. Guess again, Ichigo thinks as his mouth briefly curves into a smirk. He straightens from his lean against the desk and raises his voice for anyone to overhear.

“You think I’m worried about what they think? Well, I don’t care and neither should you. I’ll talk to whoever I want, hang out with whoever I want, and eat lunch with whoever I want. Come on, if you didn’t bring anything I’ll spot you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” Ichigo mulishly repeats with mounting irritation.

“Because I just don’t! Now, go away.”

“If you don’t want to eat _with me_ , fine. I’ll still buy you something. What do you want?”

“For you to leave me alone,” grits Ishida, appearing even more annoyed than him. “No one asked you for charity.”

“You can pay me back tomorrow if it bothers you.”

“I’d rather not.”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Ichigo feels his patience waning. All he wants is to feed the stubborn brat! Why does Ishida have to be so difficult? Looking so pitiful with his nerdy novel and his emo haircut and his distrustful eyes…Shouldn’t he be glad that someone wants to be nice to him? Everyone else in the school pretends he doesn’t exist, so Ichigo taking a friendly interest should be the highlight of his day. Yet, Ishida acts like he is the world’s biggest pest!

“Just take the free lunch, will you!?”

“How many times must I decline? Find someone else to torment!”

Heaving a sigh that comes very close to resembling a growl, Ichigo grabs the boy’s wrist and tugs. Maybe once he is out of his chair and halfway down the hall, Ishida will realize how immature he is acting and—A hiss of discomfort escapes and Ishida can’t turn his face away in time to hide how it registers there, too. Ichigo takes a breath to apologize, thinking he tugged too hard, but he notices something distracting. At the edge of Ishida’s long-sleeved uniform shirt, peeking from under the cuff, is a hint of dark color against pale flesh. Gently pushing up the sleeve, Ichigo’s eyes flare to see a collection of mottled bruises running up the length of his forearm. A glimpse is all he manages before Ishida reclaims his wrist and hides it in his lap, flushing with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” murmurs Ichigo too quietly to be overheard. He crouches beside the desk to ask a somber question, “Were you serious when you said what happened last Friday is a daily event?”

Ishida’s eyes squeeze shut as he struggles to control elevated breathing. When they open, the glow of rebellious energy has vanished, replaced with something blank and bottomless. “It doesn’t matter. Just _leave me alone_. Please.”

Sympathy swells in him. Ichigo has more questions, _many_ more, but it is clear Ishida isn’t in the answering mood. He slowly rises and turns to honor the boy’s desperate request to be left alone. A rash of excited chatter breaks out around him. The witnesses are alight with their scandalous new material. Ichigo hears several of them whispering about how cruel ‘that sullen freak’ was being to their ‘adorable Kurosaki-kun’ and he wants to scream at them for being so insensitive. Instead, he grabs his bento and joins his friends on the roof as though none of it happened.

Ichigo attended the party that weekend for Keigo’s sake. He spent the entire time avoiding as many people as possible and made a random excuse to leave as soon as he could. Parties are not his ‘thing’ on the best of days, but Ichigo can’t be expected to socialize and make merry when he has more important matters on his mind. Like brooding over the fact that Ishida has new bruises Tuesday morning and looks like he didn’t sleep at all last night. Ichigo wants to confront him about it but he knows exactly how that conversation will end.

Still, he keeps shooting glances Ishida’s way all day long until his friends start to notice. They don’t comment on it, not yet, but it is only a matter of time. Rukia will be the first to ask why he has developed a sudden interest in the loner in the corner. She’ll probably make jokes about how it’s always the quiet ones who crack and do something crazy. Beginning to grasp a basic understanding of what said loner has had to endure, Ichigo wouldn’t blame him. He has always hated injustice and bullying more than anything, and Ishida doesn’t deserve any of it. Much less to be targeted so ruthlessly and so often!

The more he thinks about it, the angrier Ichigo becomes.

The final bell rings and everyone breaks into casual conversation while they pack up their textbooks and notepads. He doesn’t respond when Inoue asks about studying later, but Chad steps in to volunteer in Ichigo’s place. Renji’s offer to walk together for kendo club practice is waived; he won’t be going today. Even Tatsuki’s invitation to meet at a cafe and catch up is denied. Finally, everyone has left for the day and Ichigo hurries to tail one student in particular. If Ishida won’t talk to him with others around to snoop, perhaps he will be open to a more private discussion.

This plan in mind, Ichigo quickly exchanges his shoes near the entrance and bolts outside before he loses track of the boy. The bullies have already found him first. They surround Ishida in the deserted rear courtyard, taking turns shoving at him when he tries to push past. From this distance, Ichigo can’t make out much of what they are saying, but a few key remarks stand out. Demeaning and homophobic, they cajole their favorite prey for every offensive phrase they can imagine for a smart, shy gay kid.

For his part, Ishida puts up some resistance but there are far too many opponents to realistically fight by himself. One of the more outspoken boys throws him roughly against a wall, holding him by the throat while two others take solid grip of his arms to anchor him there. Another scurries forward, giggling like a nutcase, and punches Ishida’s unguarded midsection. The one squeezing his throat aims a blow that knocks off his glasses and splits his lip. The bright bloom of blood is soon to follow.

Ichigo has seen enough.

They hear the thud of sneakers on concrete and pause in the midst of committing their hate crime to look around. The four holding Ishida against the wall release him, and he doubles over to cradle his tenderized stomach. He spits blood onto the ground and glances up to see what earned him the respite. Shock overtakes his pained visage.

“Kurosaki!?”

“Get away from him!” Ichigo yells, charging into the group to ward them away from Ishida.

“Come to ruin our fun again?” one of them sneers. “Why do you keep protecting this flaming piece of shit?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he vehemently returns. “What you assholes are doing to him is seriously fucked up! Don’t you have any sense of compassion or empathy? How can you live with yourselves after treating someone like this?”

The intensity of their glowers triples from one second to the next.

Behind him, Ishida urges, “Stay out of this, idiot! Leave while you still can!”

Ichigo doesn’t need to see the boy to know he is still winded and wheezing from the strike to his diaphragm. In this state, Ishida doesn’t have the luxury of eschewing his help regardless of the reason. He’s better off staying quiet and letting Ichigo deal with them.

“We don’t need a lecture from someone like you!”

“Yeah! Who asked you?”

“Shut up, Kurosaki!”

“Are you two _lovers_?” another derisively suggests.

Confused by the sudden turn, Ichigo endeavors to rally. “What? No, we’re not—”

“Queer-lover!”

“Kurosaki to his boyfriend’s rescue…”

“He’s not so tough. I bet we could take him.”

“Let’s just kick his ass!”

A chorus of eager agreement erupts and the hooligans start to close back in on them.

“Fine. If you want a brawl, I’ll take you all on! Fair warning, though: I won’t hold back against a bunch of heartless pricks like you.”

Ichigo cracks his knuckles and smirks wickedly, waiting for one of them to challenge him. Something about his words and demeanor have them reconsidering, however, and hasty resolution steadily drains from combative stances. A couple break from the crowd to run away. A few more grumble lame excuses and saunter after the other cowards. Several more fold under increasing pressure until just a handful remain. One who might be the leader stares Ichigo down for a long time, then he goes to Ishida’s glasses sitting on the sidewalk and stomps with all his might. But even he goes the way of his lackeys.

It is over. Once all the assailants have gone, he turns to check on Ishida. He is blotting at the blood on his lower lip with shaking hands and cringing at the sting. Ichigo takes gentle hold of his chin to get a better look at the cut, but the boy jerks away and pushes him back. Frowning with his whole body, he gears up to ask just what Ishida’s problem is that he can’t accept anyone’s aid when he is in dire need of it. In light of what he just interrupted, however, Ichigo can’t bring himself to say anything that might make him feel worse.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Ishida wearily reprimands. “It won’t make a difference. They’ll just find me when you’re not around, or decide to harass you, too.”

“You expect me to ignore something like that? I’m not a monster!”

“Do you think you’re the first person to catch them in the act? You’re just the first one foolish enough to barge in!”

“What are you complaining about, Ishida? I saved your ass, twice!”

“I didn’t ask for the help of some dumb jock and I’m not doing any weird favors to repay you, so don’t even ask!”

Struggling to catch his breath after that outburst, he doesn’t see the way Ichigo’s expression contorts in pure puzzlement.

“What do you mean ‘weird favors’?” Ishida won’t glance in his direction, much less clarify that statement, but he can take a wild guess. “Are…are you really gay? Is that why they harass you?”

For a moment, Ichigo is sure he won’t answer that, either. He keeps his mouth shut and waits just in case. The suspense builds, peaks when Ishida _finally_ meets his gaze.

“Yes,” he admits in a small voice, “I am. But I’ve never told anyone in school, especially those thugs. They just assumed based on a rumor started by a guy who got mad when I wouldn’t go down on him in the restroom a couple of years ago.”

Struck speechless at the confession, Ichigo is slow to reply. His sympathy skyrockets for the kid, along with his rage at the bullies making his life hell over something so inexcusably trivial. He takes a deliberate step closer and speaks with his best consoling tone.

“That is _horrible._ You don’t deserve to be treated that way for liking men, or being shy, or acing all your exams. People can be so fucking shallow and cruel, and I’m _so sorry_ you’ve had to suffer everything alone.”

By the end of his speech, Ishida has begun to tear up a little. And shut down a lot. Putting some distance between them, he crosses his arms and turns his head away.

“I…I don’t need your pity, Kurosaki,” he announces with forced severity, voice wavering. “Stay out of my life. Stop watching me in class and don’t follow me after school.”

“It’s not pity. I—”

“Whatever. Get out of my way.”

He moves to leave but Ichigo can’t abide seeing someone hurting and not doing whatever he can to fix it, even against their own stubborn will. Reaching out to stop Ishida with a firm grip at his shoulders, he summons every ounce of inner strength within him to keep emotion from bowling him over. Ichigo can be man enough to admit this is really getting to him.

“It’s okay. Hey, _it’s okay_ , Ishida. I won’t tease you for crying ‘cause I’m gonna cry just from thinking about what you’ve been through.”

The boy halts his efforts to fend Ichigo off, astonished to see the truth of his words in the sorrowful shimmer of brown eyes. His iron-clad defenses begin to crumble and Ishida slowly sinks to the ground. Wrapping arms about folded legs, he trembles from the strain of holding the misery inside. Ichigo goes down with him, dropping to his knees in front of the boy. Eventually, Ishida raises his head to share an important secret. Late afternoon sunlight and a melancholy gleam combine to make his irises practically burst with vibrant color and Ichigo couldn’t look away for his life.

“It didn’t used to be like this. Before they suspected anything, I was like any other student. I was never popular but I did have some friends. Until one of them got hurt standing up for me. I had to push them all away so they wouldn’t be victimized by association.”

“What about your family?”

Ishida squeezes his eyes shut, brow bunching in misery, and a tear slips down his left cheek. He doesn’t bother wiping it away.

“They’re all dead. Except my father, who disowned me when I came out to him last year. But none of that matters now. I’m fine with being alone. I just need to get through high school so I can attend university. Start fresh where no one knows anything about me.”

The full gravity of his true circumstances sets in hard. Ichigo scoots to sit beside him as he considers everything. Ishida is blinking back his sadness and breathing unevenly, determined not to cry outright. There is something Ichigo wants to do, although it likely won’t be received well. He has to try anyway.

Reaching out to take Ishida’s hand, he releases a relieved breath when the gesture is miraculously allowed.

“You’re not alone anymore, Ishida. If no one else is brave enough to stay by your side, then I volunteer because no one deserves to live like this.”

They float in the silence spurred by his gallant oath. All right, so it sounded a tad more melodramatic than he intended, but the sincerity was real. Ishida proves the message came through clearly by gratefully squeezing Ichigo’s hand. But then he pulls his away.

“I appreciate that…more than I care to admit…but I don’t want to get you tangled up in my issues. Especially if you really are this nice of a person.”

“Bullshit,” Ichigo proclaims. He takes Ishida’s hand again, more firmly this time, and says, “I’m not giving you a choice. I am your friend and that’s it. I’ll help you get those assholes off your back for good, no matter what.”

“I’ve already tried everything I could think of, from fighting as fiercely as possible to not fighting at all. I’ve gone to teachers and even the police on one notable occasion. Nothing has worked! Everything I try just makes it that much worse.”

“This time will be different. We’re working together now, as a team. You’ll see.” Wearing a confident smile, Ichigo pushes to a stand and pulls Ishida along with him. “First, we need to get you home so you can clean up.”

“Absolutely not!” Appearing distressed at the very idea, Ishida jerks his hand from Ichigo’s and shakes his head. “I do not need you to walk me home.”

“What if those guys are lying in wait somewhere?”

“They wouldn’t wait this long just to torture me.”

“You don’t know that. Why risk it?”

“Because I don’t want you to see my place!”

Ishida looks down and bites his lip like he hadn’t meant to say that, then winces as the press of his teeth aggravates the cut he forgot about. It triggers a fresh trickle of blood that he dabs with a sleeve. His eyes land accusatorily on Ichigo for the slip-up.

“What’s wrong with your place?” he calmly asks. Of course Ishida won’t say. Subverting a powerful desire to roll his eyes at the sheer stubbornness, Ichigo relents, “If your home is off-limits, how about mine? My family won’t mind and you can sleep over if you want.”

Unmitigated surprise steals his words and flares his features. It takes him a minute to form a coherent response. “Y-you would…be fine with inviting a ‘devious homosexual’ into your house?”

Despite the serious atmosphere, Ichigo laughs, asking, “Why wouldn’t it be fine? It’s not like you’re gonna attack me. Besides, I don’t have the same misconceptions about that kind of thing as most people ‘cause my aunt, Kuukaku, is a lesbian. She’s talked about it a lot and she has no filter whatsoever. I have _heard_ some things, man.”

Ishida can’t help smirking at that. He has one more concern, though. “What if our classmates think we’re involved? Won’t your popularity and extracurriculars suffer if people start suspecting you might be gay?”

“Like I said when you wouldn’t have lunch with me last week—which I’m still annoyed about, by the way—I don’t care what they think. If me being gay meant everyone who calls me ‘friend’ would start treating me like a pariah, then I don’t need their friendship to begin with. Let ‘em think what they want.”

At a loss in the wake of that assertive monologue, Ishida weakly tries, “Is there anything I can say to dissuade you?”

“Nope. You’re stuck with me.”

He rubs a hand over his face, groaning in defeat. “Great…”

While he fetches the boy’s abandoned bag like last time, Ishida walks up to his glasses and gazes forlornly down at the warped frame and shattered lenses. He mumbles something about not even having a secondary pair at home anymore. That _was_ his secondary pair. Ichigo hands over his bag and mulls over a possible solution.

“A friend of my dad’s is an optometrist. We might be able to get you some new specs.”

“Thanks, but I can’t afford it right now. I will just have to deal with bumping into things and tripping wherever I go.”

“As hilarious as that would be, it’s not a problem. If we can’t get them _pro bono_ , I’ll make my dad cover the bill. He owes me a favor or five for helping out at the clinic over the summer.” Ishida prepares to object but Ichigo preempts him with a light tug to his sleeve and a curt command, “Let’s go. I’m tired of looking at this ugly-ass school building.”

Ishida makes a disgruntled noise but obligingly starts walking.


	2. Chapter 2

The route back to Ichigo’s house is traveled almost entirely in companionable silence. Ishida seems lost in thought the whole way there. A couple of blocks from their destination, Ichigo dares to ask what’s on his mind. This topic, as with most he has brought up, is yet another that Ishida doesn’t wish to broach. It takes some careful pestering from Ichigo to wrangle it out.

“I am…doubting your intentions, to phrase it bluntly,” Ishida begins with a searching glance in his direction. “This wouldn’t be the first time I thought someone honestly cared only to realize it was a trick. I want to believe you mean well but I was cynical even before I had good reason to be.”

Nodding, Ichigo casually returns, “That’s understandable. I won’t hold it against you for keeping your guard up around me. It just means I’ll have to prove myself by being a decent friend and fulfilling my promise to get you out of the rut you’re in.”

“How do you propose to do that, exactly?”

“Well, obviously we have to start by dealing with the bullies. After they’re out of the picture, we should find you a part-time job. No offense, but I noticed your school uniforms aren’t in the best shape.”

Plucking at his shirt front to frown at the faded stains and mended rips decorating the once-pure fabric, Ishida wryly agrees, “Detergent and thread can only do so much. I can’t say I wouldn’t prefer a new set of uniforms, if I had the extra money to spare.”

“You’ll need a steady income for the clubs you’re going to join, too.”

“Why clubs?”

“Why _not_ clubs?” challenges Ichigo. “Meeting people, being part of a team, learning and practicing skills…It’s a better way to spend free time than being alone, isn’t it?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“Yes, we will. Last but not least: friends. Whether you want your old pals back or you’re more interested in finding new ones, the best way to drag yourself out of a funk is by relying on your friends. Maybe we can even get you into the dating scene.”

At that, Ishida pauses in the middle of the street to anxiously declare, “I have no intention of dating!”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, it would be too nerve-racking. Not nearly worth the effort.” Lowering his head to mutter under his breath, Ishida starts walking again as he adds in a rush, “Besides, who would want to be with someone like me, anyway?”

“Hey, I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean but—”

“At any rate, what would be the point of starting a relationship now? We are less than a semester and a summer break away from university. No, I won’t consent to any far-fetched notions of attempting romance under these circumstances.”

“Dating doesn’t always lead to a relationship, y’know. This is probably gonna sound shallow, but sometimes it’s fun just to talk and flirt with someone every once in a while.”

“Do I seem like the flirtatious type to you, Kurosaki?”

“How would I know?”

“Exactly.”

“Huh?”

The familiar outline of his house slides into view across the street. Since he can tell Ishida is highly uncomfortable and verging on volatile, he drops the controversial subject for the time being. They walk into his home and Ichigo calls out to his dad, announcing that he’s home with a friend he brought for dinner. From the other room, Isshin responds in the affirmative and they continue upstairs to his bedroom. Ishida speaks up as soon as the door is shut behind them.

“Your father seems used to you having company over.”

“I have a lot of friends who swing by whenever they feel like it,” Ichigo explains, setting his school bag on the floor beside his desk. “As long as they’re not too loud, Dad doesn’t care.”

Considering that for a beat, Ishida bitterly comments, “I didn’t mean to steal the golden boy away from the in-crowd.”

Ichigo snickers in response, earning another flash of surprise from his guest. He offers a reassuring smile and says, “Don’t worry. Those maniacs will be just fine without me for a while. And if they aren’t, they can get over it. Sit wherever while I go grab some stuff.”

“What stuff?”

He doesn’t answer, too busy observing how uncomfortable Ishida looks in his personal space until ultimately settling into the desk chair, after apparently vetoing the bed. Ichigo really hopes some of that stiffness dissipates before long. Just watching the boy is making him tense. Downstairs, he gathers up snacks, drinks, and some supplies to disinfect the cut on Ishida’s lip. Karin wanders into the kitchen as he is filling two tall glasses with ice and flavored tea.

“What’s the first aid kit for?”

“A friend got hurt. It’s not that bad, though.”

He pushes the pitcher back onto the refrigerator shelf. Karin sighs.

“Are you getting sucked into someone else’s mess again?”

Shutting the door and positioning everything on a wooden tray, Ichigo shrugs. “Probably. But it’s worth it.”

“It’s always worth it,” she reminds him with one eyebrow arched, “until you get hurt, too.”

The brief yet insightful exchange has Ichigo thinking, on his way back upstairs, that he might really take some serious backlash for this. Each of Ishida’s concerns is legitimate and he could get bullied right along with him despite Ichigo’s privileged station in the social hierarchy. Then again, he wasn’t bluffing when he said he didn’t care what happens to him. Just thinking about what Ishida has been going through for years makes him want to punch someone. Those jerks will be lucky if he lets them off without a massive beatdown!

Pushing open his bedroom door with a toe, Ichigo pads inside to catch his guest out of the chair and snooping around. He snickers to see Ishida jump and mumble some feeble excuse for his nosiness.

“Curiosity isn’t a crime,” he pardons, setting the tray and kit on the desk. “I don’t have anything shameful lying around anyway.”

Ishida accepts the drink he is handed and takes a sip, looking askance as he asks, “Not even porn?”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, Ishida flushes faintly and begins to stammer an apology for the inappropriate topic. Ichigo interrupts the boy to benevolently save him from himself.

“Actually, I do have porn, but only on my laptop where no one else can access it.” Ishida’s blush deepens and he covers his lack of response with a long draught of tea and a neutral hum of comprehension. Ichigo can’t help teasing, “I’ll make an exception and let you watch some if you ask nicely.”

“W-what!? No, th-that’s not…” The look of abject horror on his face is priceless. Ishida struggles to regain composure as he blurts, “Why would I want to watch revolting _straight porn_?”

“What makes you think it’s all straight?”

Ishida’s eyes go wide and his mouth snaps shut, throat bobbing on a hard swallow. Again, he recovers quickly enough to retort, “Stop making fun of me, Kurosaki! Haven’t I dealt with enough of that lately?”

The mood instantly shifts and Ichigo sincerely says, “You’re right, that was totally insensitive. I’m sorry.”

Glancing toward the ajar window, Ishida gives a light shrug of acceptance. He takes another sip and praises, “The tea is very good.”

“My sister, Yuzu, made it,” he states while cracking open the kit to rummage among its contents. “She loves trying new flavor combos. I’ll tell her the latest experiment is a hit. Here, sit down for a minute.”

Once Ishida is seated, he steps in close for better access to the gash on his lip. So close that Ichigo’s left leg slots between his. Instinctively reacting to the invasion of personal space, Ishida leans back until he almost loses balance and tips floorward. Ichigo’s quick grip on the armrest to counter the motion saves him at the expense of more personal space lost. Ishida’s hands, resting conservatively atop his thighs, clench into the fabric of his slacks.

“Relax,” Ichigo soothes, “this’ll only take a minute.”

Nodding, Ishida takes a breath and visibly forces himself to unwind. He tilts his face up in silent permission. A touch at his jaw barely causes a flinch. The dab of alcohol-soaked cotton to his lip summons the slightest gasp. And they’re in business. Ichigo talks about his family in efforts to distract him from the situation, sharing tidbits about stalwart Karin, sweet Yuzu, and stupid Isshin. The perfect patient, Ishida stays silent and still until he mentions Masaki. In past tense.

“‘Was’? Then your mother is…?”

“Gone, yeah. It’s been about eight years.”

Ishida whispers condolences, eyes direct on Ichigo’s for the first time since they got here. He pauses in applying antibiotic ointment with a q-tip and stares back. The longer he stares up-close, the more he thinks it is insane that Ishida isn’t popular with a face like his. Perhaps a combination of hiding behind his hair, wearing reflective glasses, and rarely looking straight at anyone has kept him under the radar for over two years. On cue, Ishida breaks eye-contact as he speaks. More like _complains_.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I was wondering why you wear glasses instead of contacts.”

It is partial truth at best but it’s better than a lie. He has always hated lying. The observation amplifies shyness and Ishida tries to turn away. Ichigo holds firm to resume his task.

“Contacts are expensive,” he reluctantly mutters at length, “I wouldn’t want the extra attention, anyway. Superficial people are the _worst_ and aesthetics are meaningless to someone like me, who spends most of the time lost in novels or daydreaming. What truly matters is personality and character. Hearts and minds, not looks and charm.”

“Absolutely, I agree. Brains over beauty, one hundred percent. But it doesn’t hurt to be good-looking, either. Hasn’t anyone told you that you’re handsome? Or, kind of…I won’t say ‘pretty’ but…”

The boy has no verbal response to any of that. Finished with the first-aid, Ichigo starts to retreat from his precious personal bubble. Except Ishida has unwittingly locked his knees around the thigh between them. Their gazes fall upon the predicament simultaneously. With a mortified noise, he releases the hold and scoots backward until chair meets desk. Ichigo very deliberately does not laugh at him. Instead, he packs up the kit and grabs his own drink plus a packet of snacks. He collapses to his bed and strategically changes the subject.

“So, do you want to study until dinner or what?”

Clutching his glass and the new topic for dear life, Ishida nervously rattles, “As long as we don’t have to talk about me anymore, I don’t care what we do. I’m fine with studying. Have you finished the short essay for Kagine-sensei’s class? We should proofread each other’s papers. Or would you rather work on calculus homework first?”

Wordlessly reaching for his book bag, Ichigo smiles and shakes his head at his guest’s academic enthusiasm.

After dinner, they return to the relative safety of Ichigo’s room upstairs. Ishida turns to him with a question he has been dying to ask for the past hour.

“Does your father hug all of your guests like that?”

“Nah.” Ichigo snorts. “You’re special. Told you he’s nuts, didn’t I?”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Noticing the way Ishida rubs his shoulder at the memory, he asks, “Did it hurt?” The answer is clear by the way he hesitates to respond. “I’ll punch him for you later.”

“What? No, you—”

“It’s cool. I still owe him a couple from last week anyway.”

“I see,” he says, though Ichigo can tell he really doesn’t. “Well, your father may be eccentric but he has a depth of affection mine could never hope to emulate.”

“Careful, Ishida: if he hears you saying things like that, you’ll be adopted whether you like it or not.”

They share a good-natured laugh at Isshin’s expense. Ichigo plops onto his mattress, pleased when Ishida chooses to take a spot beside him over the distant chair.

“For twins, your sisters seem nothing alike. One is a skilled sweetheart while the other is smart and snarky…You know, Kurosaki, with a family like yours I can see why you are the tenacious, meddlesome type who would help any stray to cross your path.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He takes the criticism in stride. “Isn’t it time for the ‘stray’ to have a bath? I’m surprised no one said anything about the dirt on your cheek.”

Lifting a hand to his face self-consciously, Ishida accuses, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Don’t worry, your swoopy bangs covered most of it.”

“Oh, that’s very reassuring.”

“Come on, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.” Guiding him into the hall, he explains on the way, “My sisters shower in the morning and Dad won’t bother until later tonight so you can take your time.”

Ichigo twists the taps to start warming the water as he issues a blanket invitation to use whichever toiletries he wants. He shuts the door on his way out. Halfway down the hall, it occurs to him that there are no clean towels in there at the moment. A brief stop at the linen cupboard and he is pushing the door open again after a cursory knock less than half a minute later. The phrase ‘towel delivery’ is mid-way out of his mouth when he notices Ishida is already holding his shed shirt in one hand. Which normally wouldn’t be very awkward since they’re both guys, except…

Ishida is covered in bruises. All different colors, shapes, and sizes. He looks over his shoulder and sees Ichigo’s stricken expression but he doesn’t say a word. Ishida averts his gaze and lets him stare because he knows it’s a spectacle. He has scars and bruised ribs, has probably had dislocated joints, even a few broken bones. A macabre tale of violence and agony is written there for anyone to read, dark ink on a pale page.

Head swimming with emotion, he steps closer to let the door close on its own and lifts a hand. Seeing the maneuver in a nearby mirror, Ishida tightens his shoulders but doesn’t evade. Still, Ichigo can tell he doesn’t want to be touched so he lowers his arm. Instead, he walks around to face Ishida and waits until their eyes meet before making a vehement vow.

“I will _never_ let those thugs hurt you again. I’ll make sure they don’t even if I have to send every last one of them to the hospital.” Ishida’s split lip quivers a tiny bit, otherwise he gives no reaction. “I’ll protect you any time you can’t protect yourself so you won’t have to suffer like this anymore. Understand?”

He nods once uncertainly, then again more firmly as the tension eases out of his frame. With nothing left to say, Ichigo glances over him one more time before shifting to leave. His fingers curve around the door handle but a soft call of his name delays his exit.

Ishida is still facing away when he quietly says, “Thank you.”

The unrolled futon hits the hardwood with a cushioned _whump_. A pillow and folded blanket are dropped on top. Ichigo pulls the damp towel from around his neck to drape over the back of his chair. He turns to Ishida, loitering awkwardly by his bookshelf.

“Do you have a preference? I’m fine with either.”

“I’m used to a futon. Besides, I don’t want to put you out of your own bed.”

A shrug is Ichigo’s only response. He flips out the light but leaves the blinds halfway up to let in a dim blue shine from streetlamps outside. Ishida sinks to his chosen sleeping spot and promptly pulls the covers up to his chin. Settling onto the mattress, Ichigo lies on his side to watch over his newest friend. The boy keeps subtly changing position, trying to find a comfortable spot despite his numerous injuries. Finally, Ishida sighs and stills out of resignation more than anything.

And if Ichigo already had a fire inside him waiting to break out and destroy the ones who did this to such a delicate guy, seeing Ishida so pitiful like this sure as hell stokes it into an inferno. His fist squeezes around the blanket as he begins to plot how he will help as promised.

Minutes slowly tick by and Ichigo is on the brink of sleep, well on his way to happy dreams of pummeling bullies, when he suddenly hears his name. Leaning closer to the edge of his bed, he sees that Ishida has rolled over to face him. Their eyes meet and even in the semi-darkness Ichigo can read the sadness lingering there.

“Need something?”

“I just wanted to say…even if this turns out to be some sick game meant to humiliate me, I’ll still be grateful to you.” Ishida closes his eyes on a long exhale, wearily confessing, “I can’t remember the last time anyone was so kind to me.”

Ichigo’s chest aches to hear it and he can’t think of anything to say. His throat is too tight for speech anyway. All he can do is hum to acknowledge the sentiment that just broke his fucking heart.

Ishida was gone before Ichigo woke up the next morning—finding the futon, blanket, and pillow left folded in a neat stack by the closet—but he figured that would be the case.

He goes to school like normal and thinks about Ishida throughout all of their morning classes. Ichigo wants to eat and chat with the boy during lunch but changes his mind when he notices Ishida is already digging into pre-packaged onigiri, reading with a tranquil expression for a change. Ishida seems so peaceful on his own; Ichigo doesn’t have the heart to disturb him for the sake of satisfying his curiosity. He waits until after the final bell instead.

On the way to their shoe cubbies, he falls into step beside Ishida and says, “Hey, remember that optometrist I mentioned?”

“Yes…?”

“My dad said he talked to the guy,” Ichigo explains as they switch out their footwear. “He’ll work you into the schedule today. We can head over now.”

Sighing, Ishida glances around at the other students getting ready to leave for the day. He steps a little closer and furtively tells him, “I appreciate the offer but I’m not comfortable—”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Ishida. I already said you don’t owe me anything for setting this up, so quit being stubborn and come on.”

Clearly annoyed, he frowns at Ichigo but doesn’t open his mouth to keep arguing. They walk together in silence until they get far enough from school that they are wearing the only grey uniforms in sight. He can practically _feel_ Ishida brooding but he doesn’t want to risk pissing him off even more by asking about what’s bugging him now.

It has Ichigo wondering if he’s been bullied again—maybe between classes or on the way to school? It doesn’t seem like Ishida has any new bruises but it’s hard to be sure when ninety-nine percent of his skin is covered by clothing. Or dual curtains of emo fringe. Even his neck is conservatively hidden by the uniform jacket’s high collar. The only evidence of what happened yesterday afternoon is the healing cut on his lip. The reminder makes him curious. Ichigo stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“What—” Ishida sucks in a sharp breath as fingers touch his chin, guiding his face upward for inspection. Ichigo leans close to make sure it’s healing properly and not in danger of infection. If he has learned anything from growing up around a clinic, it’s not to underestimate how easily a minor wound can turn serious.

“How’s your lip?”

“It’s fine,” snaps Ishida, pushing him away. “Don’t do that kind of thing in public, idiot!”

Genuinely confused, he asks, “Why not?”

“It looks like you’re about to…kiss me or something gross like that.”

“Gross? Oh, you mean ‘cause of the cut? It looks okay, though.”

“No, not because of the—Never mind. Let’s just hurry up and get this over with.”

He has more questions but Ishida is striding ahead like he’s late for a very important date.

They make it to the optometrist’s office in good time. Ichigo tells the receptionist who they are and she gives them a friendly smile as she hands Ishida some paperwork to fill out before the appointment. The waiting room chairs are pretty comfortable, Ichigo decides after sinking into one. He stretches out his long legs, still a bit stiff from sitting at a desk all day, and notices another patient staring at him. It’s a woman in her late thirties aiming a critical glare his way.

“What? Never been this close to a delinquent before?” She shakes her head in unspoken disapproval and Ichigo rolls his eyes, turning back to Ishida. “Can you believe this lady?”

“You have bright orange hair and you’re wearing a blood red t-shirt with the words ‘kill your idols’ in English under an unzipped uniform. Not to mention that studded belt and chain are non-regulation,” he dryly points out. “Can’t say I blame her for making assumptions.”

“Yeah, whatever. Need any help reading all those tiny letters, four-eyes?”

Without looking up from the clipboard, he replies, “I wear glasses to correct for myopia, Kurosaki.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I can see things close up but not far away.”

“So, that’s how you were reading at lunch as usual…hm.”

That gets him to raise his gaze at last. The blue of his eyes is icy. “I thought I told you not to watch me in class anymore.”

“If you’re gonna be like that, I won’t lend you my notes from today.”

“Who says I need them?”

“Oh, so you could see the whiteboard from all the way at the back of the room?” Ishida purses his lips and returns his attention to the short stack of forms. “That’s what I thought.”

Sinking lower in his seat, Ichigo rests his head on the back of the chair and does some brooding of his own. He thinks Ishida is being awfully cold to him in spite of the quality time they shared yesterday. The heartfelt way he thanked Ichigo last night in that gentle, almost reverent tone doesn’t match his clipped speech now. Yet, he also hasn’t forgotten what Ishida said about not trusting his intentions. Is he still doubting Ichigo to this extent?

A few minutes later, Ishida rises to turn in his paperwork and a nurse comes out to take him back. The exam should only take twenty minutes or so. In the meantime, Ichigo closes his eyes and brainstorms ways to get on Ishida’s good side.

Questioning his compulsion to help Ishida didn’t occur to him until his friends brought the subject up on the roof during lunch. Keigo was throwing a tantrum over how Ichigo had rejected his gaming invitation to spend time with the class weirdo instead of him. Rukia wanted to know all about the mysterious nerd who never talked to anyone. Renji got jealous and started bad-mouthing Ishida before Ichigo told him to knock it off. Tatsuki had absolutely no interest in anyone named ‘Ishida’, nor the reasons why Ichigo was suddenly hanging out with them. Chad just listened quietly and grunted when appropriate. Mizuiro was too busy texting his girlfriend to pay them any mind.

But it was Inoue who asked the relevant question. Why does Ichigo want to help him so badly?

He didn’t give them any details. Didn’t tell them about the bullying and the abuse. Didn’t mention the lack of family, friends, and funds. All he told them was that Ishida could really use a friend right now and Ichigo volunteered. Well, more like forced himself into the boy’s life, but they didn’t need to know about that part.

Maybe there’s more to his urge to become Ishida’s guardian angel, and maybe there isn’t. Ichigo doesn’t fully understand it himself and that’s okay with him. He’s not exactly the most introspective person on the planet but that’s how he prefers it.

Hearing Ishida thank the doctor in the hall, he opens his eyes and sits up straight. Ichigo goes to meet him in the corner lined with rows of stylish frames displayed for convenient perusal.

“I was hoping you’d gotten bored and wandered off.”

“Unfortunately for you, I can be pretty patient when I try.” Ignoring his retort, Ishida appears to pluck a model from the collection at random and heads straight for the front desk. Ichigo snatches them out of his hand, insisting, “Whoa, hold on, you gotta give it more thought than that!”

“Why? They’ll be broken within a few weeks anyway. Care to guess how many pairs I’ve been through this year alone?”

“That was then and this is now.” Ichigo moves to stand right in front of him with a serious expression. “Did you already forget the promise I made you?”

He looks askance and mutters, “Something about sending people to the hospital?”

“Don’t be a dick.” The way he likes to avoid Ichigo’s eyes is seriously beginning to grate on his nerves. “Look at me, Ishida.” It takes him a moment, but he does. “I meant it when I said I’ll protect you. Do you believe me?”

“I…” He swallows, drops his gaze, and reluctantly admits, “I want to.” Dragging his eyes back up, there is a wealth of emotion in them that wasn’t there a second ago. “It’s not easy for me to rely on others, Kurosaki.”

“I know. And like I said, I can be patient.” Softening his tone, he holds up the glasses he swiped and continues, “But I don’t wanna hear you saying stuff like ‘it doesn’t matter ‘cause they’ll just get broken again’. Okay?”

Ishida takes the frames and nods, then places them back on the rack.

They shop for specs together, trying this and that for the hell of it. Ichigo makes him try on a few ridiculous ones, vetoes a couple that are just _excruciatingly_ geeky, and suggests some that actually complement his features. He tries on one or two because he feels like it. Ishida is quick to make fun of him, but Ichigo shrugs it right off. He’s steadily building up an immunity to Ishida’s negativity in all its forms. However, Ichigo doesn’t know how to react when he gets an honest compliment.

“Those frames suit you.”

“They’re pink,” he deadpans, blinking at himself in the mirror through wide rectangular lenses.

“They’re _magenta_ and they enhance the amber streaks in your eyes without clashing with the red lowlights in your hair.” Ishida seems to realize he said something strange from the way Ichigo stares blankly at him. “I-I mean you’ll look like a dorky clown no matter what you wear, but…”

Feeling magnanimous, he chooses not to tease Ishida mercilessly but holds up a new pair for him to consider instead. They’re a dark metallic blue, half-rim style with rounded rectangular floating lenses. The moment he slips them on, Ichigo knows they’re the perfect fit. They emphasize both the elegant outline and rich color of his eyes while blending in with the subtle angles of his cat-shaped face. He takes off the ‘magenta’ glasses and haphazardly deposits them back on the rack, too busy gawking at Ishida to do it properly.

“Pick those,” Ichigo blurts, then mentally kicks himself since he figures Ishida will do the opposite of whatever he wants.

But he surprises Ichigo by asking, “You think I should? I kind of like them, too.”

“Uh, yeah, definitely.”

“All right.”

“Really?” Ishida shrugs and takes the favored frames up to the receptionist, who tells them the glasses will be ready in an hour. “Perfect. We can get some food while we wait. Come on.”

He follows Ichigo outside readily enough, but gripes, “I don’t have money for fast food.”

“That’s why I’m buying.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Yeah, you can ‘cause I’m starving and I know you’re hungry, too, since all you had for lunch was a conbini onigiri.”

“That’s not the point,” Ishida adamantly objects. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and Ichigo turns to face him, bracing for yet another fight stemming from Ishida’s pride. “Why are you doing all of this, Kurosaki?”

_Why are you being so nice to me?_ He can hear Ishida’s real question, clear as a bell.

“Because I feel sorry for you.” It’s true, but Ichigo mostly says it since he knows it’s what Ishida wants to hear. It’s what makes the most sense to him, but it’s not the whole story. “And because I care, even though I don’t know you very well yet.”

“You don’t want to,” he asserts, crossing his arms and gazing somewhere across the street.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but you’re not the one who gets to decide that. And FYI, this prickly attitude you’ve been wasting so much energy on isn’t gonna scare me off, so you might as well chill out.”

With that, he grips the strap of Ishida’s bag and tugs him into motion. He shakes Ichigo off immediately, but at least he keeps walking.

“Will you stop hauling me around like I’m your fucking _pet_?”

“Wouldn’t have to haul you anywhere if you’d quit dragging your feet.”

“Where are we going?” Ishida demands, exasperated.

“There’s a place two blocks down that does awesome okonomiyaki. Best takoyaki I’ve ever had, too. They even have taiyaki for dessert. All the yakis, really.”

Ichigo isn’t surprised to see Ishida glaring at him like he’s a complete moron. “I don’t like sweets.”

“Noted.” Pausing at the crosswalk for traffic, Ichigo asks, “What _do_ you like? Aside from being an intolerable smartass, of course.”

“How did you guess my favorite hobby?” he facetiously quips.

A bulky dude wearing a black leather coat rounds the corner and power-walks past them, bumping right into Ishida in the process. He gets knocked hard into Ichigo, who catches him…and also hears his muted grunt of pain.

Instant rage ignites. He bellows over his shoulder, “Hey, asshole!”

“Kurosaki, don’t.”

“But he—”

“It doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

Releasing a short, angry exhale, he checks over Ishida out of concern for his injuries. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t look fine. He looks pale and a little shaky, but Ichigo senses this isn’t the right time to push him. “Just take me to the stupid restaurant.”

Not a single sentence is exchanged between them until long after they are seated at a table. Ishida is being extra evasive about eye contact, which is making Ichigo twitchy. So is the fact that he forgot Ishida is in pain. He has been in pain all day. Every movement, every word, every brush with a solid object. And Ichigo has been lugging him around, bickering with him and making him tense. It’s not fair to Ishida, who has already been through so much recently, and Ichigo realizes he’s sort of being a shitty friend.

He watches Ishida taking small bites of his takoyaki balls and wonders how much the cut on his lip is bothering him.

Ichigo knows he’s staring again. He knows Ishida knows he’s staring, too, but he doesn’t mention it. There’s something Ichigo wants to say but knows he shouldn’t. Pressure is building behind his temples, a side-effect of the restraint because the more he thinks about Ishida’s condition, the more he wants to say it. Eventually, he can’t hold it in anymore.

“You should’ve gone to the hospital!”

Halting mid-chew, Ishida looks up at him with widened eyes. He swallows carefully. Replies, “My father works at the hospital.”

“So what? Is avoiding him worth it if you’re bleeding internally?”

“I’m not.”

“What if one of your ribs is fractured?”

“They aren’t.”

“How can you be sure? You won’t swallow your pride long enough to take a damn x-ray?”

“It’s not about my pride.”

“I guess I just find it hard to believe you’d risk severe complications or _death_ over having to put up with your dad for an hour.”

“You don’t know my father,” Ishida solemnly states, poking ineffectually at his food.

Something about the way he says it gives Ichigo pause. He studies Ishida for a long moment before asking, “Do you hate him?”

“It’s…” He sighs. Rubs at his forehead. “Complicated.”

Recognizing how heavily the topic weighs on him, Ichigo backtracks a little. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Sorry I brought it up.”

Thus ends the conversation for the rest of the meal.

Their server brings the check and Ichigo pays with no complaints from Ishida. Until she brings back his change, smiles broadly, and gushes, “You two make such a cute couple!”

Ishida chokes on his water while Ichigo smiles back and says, “Thanks. We get that a lot.”

Giving him a charming wink, she agrees, “I bet.”

She’s gone before Ishida recovers enough to hiss, “ _Kurosaki_!”

“What?”

Failing to articulate precisely why he’s overreacting, Ishida settles for a petulant scowl but his pronounced embarrassment ruins it. The word ‘adorable’ comes to mind but Ichigo doesn’t want to die today, so he keeps it to himself.

They head back to the optometrist to pick up Ishida’s glasses. The receptionist hands him a hard case and a paper box.

Examining the box, he tells her, “I didn’t order contacts.”

“Oh, Kurosaki-kun asked us to throw in a trial pack for you. It’s not your exact prescription but it should still do the job.”

At his puzzled look, Ichigo shrugs. “Just in case you wanna try ‘em out.”

Apparently, Ishida is all out of indignant outbursts for the day. He simply thanks the receptionist and they plot a course for home. Ichigo watches him take out the new glasses as they walk and put them on. Ishida examines the scenery, testing.

“These are more accurate than my old prescription. Lighter, too.”

Then he smiles, sweet and innocent, and Ichigo loses his mind.

“Holy shit, did you just smile!? Alert the media because Ishida Uryuu is finally happy about something!”

“Shut up, idiot.” He elbows Ichigo in the side but their smiles stay. They chat about nothing in particular for a while, but the further they travel the more nervous Ishida gets. “Do you intend to follow me all the way home?”

“Maybe.”

Ichigo fully anticipates a snide bitch-fest but Ishida sullenly says, “Well, you’re not coming inside.”

Smirking because he knows he won, Ichigo teases, “Next time, then.”

Ishida scoffs but doesn’t disagree.

He strolls to a stop near the stairwell of a shabby apartment building. It’s not in a great neighborhood. Ichigo can tell by the smell of hot garbage and stale piss wafting from the alley behind it. A mangy-looking cat pads by, giving them a wary stare, and continues past without so much as a questioning mewl. Ishida’s body language is defensive, ashamed. Suddenly, Ichigo understands how difficult it has been for him to open up even this much.

“Thanks for the glasses,” Ishida says without looking at him. “You can go now.”

“Hey, you don’t have a cell phone, do you?”

Squinting at him like he’s not sure if Ichigo is gearing up to taunt him, he hesitantly replies, “No.”

“Then the sooner we find you a part-time job, the better. I don’t wanna have to come all the way out here just to talk to you outside of school.”

Ishida’s bewildered expression makes him chuckle.

Ichigo turns to leave but halts to hear him say, “Three-C.”

“Huh?”

“My unit number,” explains Ishida, tossing him an awkward glance. “It’s three-C.”

Then he heads straight upstairs. Unable to keep the triumphant smile off his face, Ichigo watches him go.


	3. Chapter 3

During lunch break the next day, he intercepts Ishida on his way back from the restroom.

“Hey. Did you bring anything to eat today?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”

“Good ‘cause Yuzu packed way too much into my bento this morning, so you’re gonna help me eat it.”

“No, thanks.” He starts to move past Ichigo but doesn’t get far. “Get out of the way, Kurosaki.”

“Look, I can’t eat it all by myself and I can’t take it home or Yuzu will be upset. So, either you eat the other half or it’s going into the trash.”

He doesn’t know Ishida well, but he knows Ishida well enough to guess that he’s the frugal type who can’t stand to waste perfectly good food. Sure enough, he appraises Ichigo for a moment and sighs.

“Fine. But tell your sister not to make a habit of this. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, I know a spot where nobody else hangs out.”

They go to a type of breezeway connecting the gym’s upper level with the far end of the library. No one ever has a reason to travel between the two this time of day. Even the thugs and stoner kids avoid it due to the glass walls making the space too visible from outside. Ichigo plops onto the floor against one of the walls and pops the top off his bento box as Ishida sits beside him. He pulls out two pairs of disposable chopsticks and hands one over.

Slipping the bamboo from its paper sleeve, Ishida coolly asks, “Do you always carry an extra pair of chopsticks, or did your sister throw those in by accident, as well?”

“All right, you caught me,” Ichigo snarks around a bite of fish and rice. “Just think of it as my way of making up for annoying the crap out of you yesterday.”

“We both know that’s not why you’re doing this,” he mutters, looking very unhappy about it.

He watches Ishida nibble at a piece of fish, eyes downcast and demeanor sulky. It’s about time Ichigo cleared up a misunderstanding between them.

“No offense, but I can tell you’re not eating enough, Ishida. Maybe you can’t spare much cash for groceries right now, but there’s plenty of food at my house. What’s wrong with wanting to share some of it with a friend?” No response is given. Eye contact is shunned. Ichigo flicks him in the forehead and scolds, “It’s not about pity, dumbass! I’m just sick of seeing those bags under your eyes.”

“Then stop looking at me!” he shouts back, stabbing his chopsticks into the rice and rushing to his feet. Ishida tries to make a run for it but Ichigo jumps up to grab his sleeve. “Let go!”

“Not until you calm down.”

Not appreciating that answer one bit, Ishida growls and shoves him hard against the reinforced glass—hard enough to set it quaking in its frame. It knocks the wind out of Ichigo but he still doesn’t let go.

“No one asked you to give a damn about me, Kurosaki! How many times have I told you to butt out? Just because you ran those bastards off a couple of times doesn’t mean you’re entitled to turn my whole life upside down!”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” he carefully states between shallow sips of air. “I only want to make it a little better.”

“I was doing okay on my own!” Fury slowly shifts sorrowful as he stares into Ichigo’s empathetic eyes. “I’m used to being alone. I don’t need anyone else.” A glimmer of unshed tears adds a waver to his voice. “I don’t need…”

They let go of each other. Ishida turns and goes to the opposite wall. He presses palms to the glass and tilts his head forward to lean against it. His shoulders are tight, breaths quick and uneven. Ichigo goes to him. Sets his hand on the back of Ishida’s neck. Feels how it makes him shiver. Hears how it makes him sigh. He pretends not to see the boy wipe a wet streak from his cheek before raising his head to look at Ichigo.

“You were doing okay on your own,” he gently confirms. “You don’t need anyone else. But you don’t have to be alone anymore, Ishida. That’s all I’m trying to show you.”

Squeezing his eyes shut as if hearing it hurts, he whispers, “Kurosaki…”

“And just so you know, I don’t think any less of you for being poor. Actually, it makes me respect you more ‘cause I know it’s not easy but you’re trying your best to keep going. It takes a lot of strength to get through something like that all by yourself.”

Ishida makes an awkward noise that’s equal parts laugh, hiccup, and sob. “Will you quit saying nice things to me? You’re making me feel like a jerk for pushing you.”

“If you wanna make it up to me, get your ass over there and eat. Lunch is almost over.”

The second laugh sounds strained but closer to normal. He straightens and faces Ichigo with a hint of a smile.

Daily life smooths out over the next week. Ichigo does a decent job of balancing time with his friends and time with Ishida, who insists he isn’t ready to meet the rooftop gang just yet. He doesn’t know what Ishida thinks he’s waiting for but Ichigo leaves that decision up to him. Tossing him in with a pack of hyenas unprepared would only do more harm than good. In the meantime, they take baby steps toward getting to know each other.

He hasn’t walked Ishida home since the day they went to the optometrist but there’s been no new trouble with the group who were attacking him. It’s almost suspicious that they gave up after just two run-ins with Ichigo. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that says something bad is on the horizon, so he asks a few of his kendo and soccer buddies to help keep watch over Ishida. It’s the best he can do without gluing himself to the boy’s side.

When Ichigo can’t find him after school on Friday, he starts to rethink that conclusion.

Searching all over the school, he asks every classmate he runs into if they’ve seen Ishida around. No one has. Ichigo is more frustrated than ever about his lack of a cell phone. Now he has to rely on _legwork_ , which takes forever and doesn’t get results.

He’s just about to give up checking the school and search the streets instead when he hears a faint voice drifting up from the bottom of the stairwell. Along with the rush of hastened breath, the rustle of clothing, and the squeak of shoes on tile. Ichigo’s blood freezes in his veins because he recognizes that voice and the distress layered within it.

“ _I said get off, Onijima_!”

“ _Stop struggling. You know you want it_.”

Ichigo runs, taking the steps two at a time.

“ _Like hell_!” A shocked gasp. Then, “ _No, don’t_ —”

More sounds of resistance, a couple grunts of exertion, some muffled speech. Ichigo’s soles slam onto the final landing and he turns in time to see another boy knock Ishida against the wall. Dazed from the blow to the back of his head and silenced by a palm sealed to his mouth, he can’t do much to keep his attacker from yanking down his jacket zipper and ripping open the front of his shirt. Ichigo flinches to hear the buttons ricocheting against concrete. It spurs him into motion.

Just as the pervert begins to work his hand under Ishida’s waistband, Ichigo tears him off and punches him to the ground. He drops to his knees, straddling the guy, and punches him some more. And keeps punching until he is dragged off.

“Lemme go, Ishida,” he says through clenched teeth. “I’m not done with him yet.”

“Yes, you are.” His uncharacteristically weak, breathy tone gets Ichigo’s attention. “He’s out cold and we need to get out of here before one of the teachers finds us. Come on!”

Letting himself get pulled along through the halls, he tries to calm down for Ishida’s sake but he’s still seeing red. Red on his shirt, red on his knuckles, red all over that bastard’s face. Ichigo has never been this pissed in his life. He wants to turn right back around and wail on that guy some more. But he’s also worried about Ishida, who leads them into the nearest restroom and locks the door before leaning against it to catch his breath.

“Is your head bleeding?”

“I don’t think so.”

Ichigo combs his fingers through Ishida’s hair across the back of his scalp to make sure. He’s right; no major damage. But his pupils expand to engulf most of the indigo in his irises as he stares at Ichigo. It could mean a concussion.

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous? See any spots or weird colors?”

“I’m okay, Kurosaki.” Looking him over, Ishida frowns and says, “You’re hurt.”

He guides Ichigo by the hand over to the sink and gingerly rinses blood off the back of it. The skin over his middle knuckle bone is split. He didn’t even notice.

“That guy…”

“Onijima Taro. Same year, different class,” Ishida informs him. He drapes a folded paper towel over Ichigo’s cut and holds it there to staunch the bleeding.

“Is he one of the bullies?”

“More like their leader,” he dryly states.

“I thought he seemed familiar.” Thinking about the sexual nature of the attack, Ichigo asks, “Is he the one who spread those rumors about you? The one who tried to make you…” Ishida keeps his eyes on the hand he’s treating as he nods once. “Why didn’t you tell me?” No response. “How many times has he forced himself on you like that?” Still no response. He feels a fire bloom in his gut, encouraging him to do something reckless. Ichigo grips his chin, tilts his face up to lock eyes and demands, “Answer me, Ishida.”

He brushes Ichigo’s arm aside and steps back to put distance between them. “This is only the second time Onijima has approached me for that kind of thing, all right? He hasn’t ‘forced me’ to do anything, so don’t act like I was raped. It’s not that serious.”

“Are you crazy? Of course it’s serious! That son of a bitch just _sexually assaulted_ you, Ishida. The only reason he didn’t succeed was because I happened to find you first!”

Folding his arms against his chest, he declares, “I wouldn’t have let him touch me. He just caught me off guard for a second.”

“Really? ‘Cause you looked pretty fucking helpless from where I was standing,” Ichigo mocks with a gesture to his gaping jacket and de-buttoned shirt. It prompts Ishida to fussily repair the damage to his outfit as best as he can. “You need to learn how to fight.”

“I already know how to fight.”

“Then prove it. Meet me at the dojo after school on Monday.” When he opens his mouth to decline, Ichigo snaps, “I mean it, Ishida. You better be there.”

“God, Kurosaki, you’re such a—”

“If you had any idea how it felt to see him groping all over you like that…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to because Ishida is stunned just from hearing half of it.

“I…” Lowering crossed arms to his sides, he sucks in a steadying breath and tells Ichigo, “Okay. If it’s that important to you, I’ll play along with your pointless combat lesson.”

“Thank you. Now can we go home? No way I’m letting you walk alone today.”

Although it’s obvious Ishida wants to argue, he merely sighs and says, “Let’s go.”

He stands across the mat from Ishida, wondering if he should ask whether or not all his bruises have healed yet. Comprised of just athletic pants and a white t-shirt, the gym uniforms they changed into show more skin but not most of the places he was hurt. Ichigo figures bringing it up would only aggravate him, though, so he asks something else instead.

“Are you wearing contacts?”

“Maybe.” His smug smirk makes Ishida frown. “Are we just going to stare at each other all afternoon, or do you want to begin anytime soon?”

“Wow, somebody’s eager.”

“Eager to be done with this. I have a lot of homework to do.”

“Me, too. Wanna come over to my place after and we can do it together?”

Features twisting into an awkward expression, he says, “Phrasing, Kurosaki. And no.”

Phrasing? Oh…Ichigo snickers at the unintentionally dirty combination of the words, ‘do it together’. He can’t help teasing, “Aw, why won’t you do it with me, Ishida? It’ll be a lot more fun than if we did it by ourselves.”

His eyes flare, darting around to the students practicing jujutsu on the other side of the dojo. “Knock it off before someone hears you!”

He’s still laughing as they get into position for a sparring match. Ichigo is quick to sober up, however, when he remembers why they are there. Friday’s after-school incident is still vivid in his memory. So are the emotions he experienced upon finding Ishida in that horrible situation. Ichigo needs to make absolute sure it won’t happen again.

“The goal here is to subdue your opponent as fast as possible, okay? But you should know I’m not gonna go easy ‘cause you need to understand how important it is to learn self-defense.”

Ishida rolls his eyes and says, “I’d tell you not to hold back but I know you will anyway.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. Ready?”

He nods and Ichigo lunges, intending to tackle him, but Ishida side-steps and uses his momentum against him. Ichigo turns his fall into a leg-sweep that Ishida does a back-hand spring to avoid. Ichigo’s eyebrows rise. Impressive acrobatics for such a tall, lanky person! He doesn’t have long to appreciate it because Ishida is advancing, aiming precise chops and jabs with the heels of his hands. So, he knows karate, huh?

Ichigo evades, backtracking on bare feet until he sees an opening. He aims a punch at Ishida’s midsection but it’s blocked by crossed forearms. Not only that, but he uses the block to grab Ichigo’s wrist and tug him one way while Ishida pivots the other way to swing his elbow at Ichigo’s unguarded head. He ducks just in time and they instinctively separate to scan for their opponent’s next move.

This is fun! He’s grinning but Ishida scoffs. “What happened to taking this seriously?”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it. You’re better than I thought.”

“Obviously. I’m done holding back if you are.”

“You’re on.”

They go in for another round. Ishida’s combos are swift and accurate but lack significant power. Ichigo’s are strong but slower, and his tendency to use his superior body weight to his advantage is actually a disadvantage since Ishida knows how to use his more unstable center of gravity against him. They only manage to land a few glancing blows after several minutes of going full-tilt. Ichigo is having a ball but that isn’t exactly the purpose of today’s session. He has to dial up the intensity if he wants to teach Ishida anything at all.

Ichigo segues from throwing punches and aiming kicks to close-range grappling. He knows Ishida’s speed won’t mean a damn thing if he gets trapped in someone’s hold or shoved up against something, like when he was caught by Onijima.

It takes him a while, but eventually Ichigo gets his arms locked around Ishida from behind. He nudges the boy’s knee forward and they both drop down to a kneel. Ichigo takes it one step further to really drive the message home. Bending one of Ishida’s arms tightly behind his back, Ichigo uses his leverage to press down and plant the side of Ishida’s face to the mat. Yup. Totally helpless.

“Shit,” he swears, struggling hard to free himself. “Don’t make me do it, Kurosaki.”

“Do what?”

“ _This_.”

In an extraordinary display of flexibility and control Ichigo couldn’t have predicted, Ishida loops his leg under Ichigo’s raised arm and twists his hips to flip them both over. The jarring impact stuns him momentarily, giving Ishida the chance to whip around and straddle him, pinning arms and legs under his own. Ichigo is completely immobilized and they both know it.

He stares bemusedly up at Ishida, who looks very pleased with himself. His lips curve into a wicked smirk and Ichigo swallows hard. Suddenly his heart is pounding and his stomach is tying itself into knots because for some random reason he’s thinking that Ishida being all fierce and confident like this makes him seem really…“Hot.”

“What?”

“Uh, nothing,” Ichigo says, blinking a few times as if he’s clearing the bright-dark afterimages of sparks behind his eyelids. “I was just thinking it’s kinda hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Not particularly. I haven’t even broken a sweat.”

“Should I take that as a challenge, Ishida?”

“It wasn’t intended as one.” Easing off to stand, he holds out a hand to help Ichigo up and asks, “How much will it take to convince you I can fend off a single attacker without needing to be rescued? Friday was just a fluke.”

“That ‘fluke’ almost got you molested, so excuse me if I wanna be extra sure.”

Affronted by the assertion, Ishida opens his mouth to argue but closes it when Ichigo tries to tackle him again.

The war games aren’t over until neither of them have the energy left to move. They lie sprawled on the mat about half an hour later, panting and sweating from the intense workout. Ichigo licks a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and grins. He hasn’t been able to go all out like this in years. The only other person tough enough to take him is Tatsuki, and she’d totally kick his ass.

“Kurosaki…”

“Hm?” Something in Ishida’s tone has him sitting up to see he has already done the same.

“It seems we’ve drawn a bit of a crowd.”

Looking around, Ichigo is surprised to see most of the jujutsu students have migrated over to watch their battle. “Oh. Uh, hey guys.”

The students start clapping and chattering as he and Ishida push to a weary stand.

“Whoa, that was amazing!”

“Just like an action movie!”

“Who knew Ishida-kun could fight like that?”

“Never seen anything like it…”

“They’re better than our sensei!”

Said sensei overhears that comment and shouts at his wayward pupils to get back to their lesson, making them reluctantly disband. He gives the two of them a dirty look.

Ishida bows and says, “Sorry for the disturbance.” The older man scoffs and walks away. To Ichigo, he advises, “We should go.”

“Probably.”

They head to the locker room for well-earned showers. On the opposite side of the communal area and facing away from him, Ishida seems extra careful about giving him space. Personally, Ichigo wouldn’t care if they were standing right next to each other. It would make checking him for bruises a lot easier. As it is, he can barely differentiate Ishida’s fair skin from the white steam billowing around him, much less any fine details.

From what he _can_ see, though, it looks like most of the dark blotches have significantly faded or vanished altogether. Ichigo is relieved. He wants all those marks—garish reminders of what Ishida has suffered—gone forever.

When his gaze begins to idly drift down the subtle slope of Ishida’s long back, past the pair of shallow dimples to the rounded swell of his rear, Ichigo turns toward the wall to finish rinsing off. He has no business looking that far south since there are no bruises on Ishida’s ass, and his latent curiosity comes as a minor revelation. First that weird moment while sparring and now this? Ichigo is starting to wonder if he might be sort of attracted to Ishida.

It wouldn’t be the end of the world or anything. Ichigo has been attracted to both girls and boys on occasion. It’s not that he has no interest in anyone, just that he hasn’t been interested enough to actually do something about it.

Glancing over his shoulder, he wonders if Ishida might be attracted to him, too. Just because he’s into guys in general doesn’t mean Ichigo is his type. Besides, Ishida probably views him as more of a nuisance than a potential partner. He also made it clear he isn’t eager to start dating anytime soon. Ichigo is of the same mindset, although he wouldn’t be opposed to making an exception for the right person.

Anyway, why is he even thinking about such things?

Ichigo shuts off the water and shakes his head, dislodging the water clinging to his hair and the odd thoughts churning in his brain. He grabs his towel and sighs as he returns to his locker. Drying off and getting changed, he only makes it as far as latching slacks over boxers by the time Ishida joins him. Rather than getting dressed right away, he secures the towel around his waist and sits on the bench to tame his damp, messy hair. Fussing over making his part perfect suits his semi-neurotic personality so well Ichigo just _has_ to tease him a little.

“Here, let me try something.” He plucks the comb from Ishida’s fingers and totally sabotages that painstaking symmetry.

“Kurosaki!”

Eluding half-hearted attempts to fend him off, Ichigo flops one long lock over the other and smoothes it out to drape mostly along one side instead of evenly about both. He tucks the rest behind Ishida’s ear and bends down to appraise the result, ignoring the way he leans back with this cagey expression like he’s not sure if Ichigo is going to attempt rearranging his features next.

“There,” he says, relinquishing the comb. “Now I can at least see half of your face clearly for once.”

Shocked into silence, Ishida doesn’t reply but pushes him away to stand. He starts pulling out clothes to put on and Ichigo considerately leaves him to it, tugging on his own shirt and packing up the rest. The urge to sneak peeks as Ishida gets changed beside him is a minor temptation that he acknowledges but resists.

On their way out of the locker room, he stops in front of a mirror and Ichigo is sure it’s to repair the ‘damage’ he did. But Ishida just gazes at his reflection for a few seconds before continuing out of the building.

“It isn’t terrible,” he grumbles to Ichigo as they cross the school grounds together.

“You like it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t _not_ say it.” Ishida rolls his eyes but lets him have that one. “Well, I like it. I think you should try it out for a while.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t automatically reject the suggestion. He also doesn’t complain when it becomes obvious Ichigo intends to walk him home again. On top of all that, Ishida accepts one of the protein drinks Ichigo buys for them at a local convenience store with minimal reluctance.

“Only because it’s your fault I’m worn out,” Ishida justifies and takes a swig. “It’s been a while since I’ve had proper exercise.”

“You’re still a pretty damn good fighter. Where did you train?”

“I had a personal trainer when I was younger. My father insisted I needed to learn even though I told him I’d rather get hurt than hurt someone else.”

“Idiot,” scoffs Ichigo. “Letting yourself get hurt _is_ hurting someone else. The people who care about you don’t wanna see you in pain.”

Ishida stares with bright, naïve eyes like that thought never occurred to him. Seeing this innocent expression on his face, Ichigo can almost picture the tender, pacifistic kid he used to be. Back before his world got a lot more ugly and violent, thanks to some arrogant douchebags and one particularly rotten dickhead.

“I guess that’s true.”

Puzzled by a piece of the scenario that doesn’t quite fit, Ichigo asks, “If you knew you could knock Onijima on his ass, why didn’t you? Why’d you let him corner you like that?”

There is a flash of fear in the eyes Ishida hastily lowers. He drinks his strawberry-flavored protein and pretends he didn’t hear the question. It’s a warning sign if he’s ever seen one but Ichigo has no clue what it means. He wants to press for an explanation but there’s something else he wants to press for more.

They make it to Ishida’s apartment building without incident but he halts in the middle of the staircase when he realizes Ichigo is following him up.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I told you I wanted to do homework together.”

“And I told you ‘no’.”

“You said ‘no’ to coming over to my place,” he corrects and slips past Ishida to find unit three-C. “So, we can just do it at yours.”

“I also told you I didn’t want you to see my place.”

“I told _you_ I’m not gonna judge you for being poor.”

That seems to end the debate. He is far from pleased but he knows Ichigo isn’t about to let it go until Ishida lets him in. So, with an exasperated sigh he unlocks the door and in they go.

Ichigo’s first impression of the place is that it’s small but very tidy. Ishida doesn’t own many possessions, which keeps the limited space from feeling cramped, but it also makes Ichigo wonder just how bad off he really is.

“Just…don’t go snooping around my kitchen, all right?” Ichigo makes a bee-line for the tiny kitchenette’s narrow cabinets. “Kurosaki!”

There’s a half-empty bag of rice, a few instant ramen packets, and a box of crackers. He blinks at the overwhelmingly barren state of this pathetic cupboard and says, “No wonder you’re so skinny. How do you have the energy to get up in the morning?”

“So much for not judging me,” he complains, arms crossed and eyebrows angry.

“I’m not judging. I’m sympathizing.” A quick look into the fridge proves it to be in a similar state of neglected stock. “You know I’m gonna have to bring you lunch every day now, right?”

“That’s not funny, Kurosaki.”

“I’m not joking, Ishida.”

Ichigo goes to sit on the floor beside the only table in the room and pulls out a book to get started on homework. It takes a minute for Ishida to sit across from him. When he does, it isn’t to study. Apparently, he’s not done arguing yet.

“I don’t know what gave you the impression that my nutrition is in any way your concern but—”

“You’re my friend and you’re basically starving. How the hell am I supposed to ignore that?”

“I’m not starving,” he snaps, insulted. “It isn’t usually this bad. I just had some unanticipated expenses this month. I’ll have more money next Wednesday.”

“How? Do you moonlight as a male stripper or something?”

Ishida’s nose wrinkles up in distaste. “Of course not.”

“Then where does your money come from?”

His body language screams that he doesn’t want to spill the secret, but he surprises Ichigo by admitting, “My father. He sends a monthly stipend that barely covers living expenses. The caveat is he gets to hold it over my head. I can’t stand being dependent on someone who despises me for a part of my personality I have no control over and he knows it.”

Now he understands what Ishida meant when he said his opinion of his father is complicated. To be rejected yet still supported by the only family member he has left must’ve generated a ton of conflicting emotions. Resentment and gratitude, fear and hope, love and hate. Feeling bitterly indebted on a daily basis can’t be having a positive effect on his mental state. He probably feels trapped under his father’s thumb like a butterfly that just wants to take off into the sky.

“That’s it,” Ichigo mutters under his breath as he takes his phone from his pocket and hits speed dial number four.

“Who are you calling?”

“My dad.” Ishida starts to ask another question but stops when the line clicks and Ichigo asks, “Hey, can Ishida come live with us for a while?”

“ _What_? Kurosaki, n—”

Grabbing the pillow from a nearby futon, he shoves it against Ishida’s face, muffling his protests long enough for him to finish the quick exchange. “Yeah, I know. Okay. Sure.”

The pillow is snatched away and flung across the room. Ichigo hangs up and sets his phone down as Ishida yells, “Have you gone insane, asking him something like that!?”

“Dad said it’s fine.”

Clearly not anticipating that, he gapes for a second and stammers, “Th-that’s not the point!”

Ichigo doesn’t really care what the point is because he’s already made up his mind. Between Ishida’s shitty living situation and the constant threat of Onijima plus lackeys going after him at any given moment, this plan makes the most sense. Now Ichigo can walk to and from school with him each day to keep him safe _and_ take Ishida’s sadistic dad’s leverage away in one fell swoop. Talk about a catch-all solution!

“What are you freaking out about? There’s plenty of space in my room for an extra bed and my sisters won’t care ‘cause they like you. Besides, it’s just ‘til you find a part-time job and save up enough money to rent your own place. Hopefully nicer than this one.”

“The answer is no, Kurosaki.”

“It’s not a question, Ishida.”

“What, are you going to kidnap me?”

“If I have to.”

They glare at each other across the short table for a tense moment. Then Ichigo gets up and pulls out the top dresser drawer to dump his clothes onto the futon. Ishida leaps up to stop him and just that easily their argument devolves into a fight. Except they’re both still tired from earlier so it doesn’t last long at all. Tangled in fabric and winded from fatigue, they lie next to each other—half on the tatami, half on the futon—and quietly catch their breath.

“Damn it, Kurosaki,” he wheezes between gasps. “You’re the most…stubborn idiot…I’ve ever met.”

“Right back at ya.”

Extricating an arm from several layers of jeans, Ishida sits up and says, “ _Fine_. You win. But I don’t want to hear you whining when you realize what a terrible idea this is.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ichigo flings a shirt at his head. “Shut up and pack.”

Dinner was awkward.

Not because Ishida was still pissy after being forced to pack up all his belongings into just two big duffel bags so Ichigo could spirit him away to the Kurosaki Clinic. No, he got over that relatively quickly. What made things awkward was the fact that stupid Isshin wouldn’t stop asking invasive questions and prattling on about how everyone was so ecstatic to welcome him to the family. Ishida navigated the old goat’s lunacy as best as could be expected and gave Ichigo a good tongue-lashing about it afterward. Not that he could blame the poor guy. It’s a rare soul who can survive Isshin’s enthusiasm unscathed.

Now they are getting ready for bed and Ishida hasn’t spoken to him in over an hour.

In the interest of clearing the air between them, he tentatively tries, “So…how’s the mattress?”

“It’s fine.”

“Cool. It’s just that I know you’re used to a futon, so I thought I’d ask.” Ishida sighs and shifts slightly under the blanket. “Yuzu’s cooking is pretty tasty, huh? At least Kurosaki Cuisine is something you can look forward to while you’re here.”

“Did you forget we have school tomorrow? Quit making small talk and go to sleep.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to give you an idea of what to expect.”

“My expectations aren’t that high, so you can relax.” Catching Ichigo’s sullen look, he teases, “As long as you let me know well ahead of time if you plan on watching porn, I won’t complain.”

Chuckling at that, he teases Ishida right back, “Sure, I’ll give plenty of notice so you can free up your schedule.”

“Ugh.” He gives a fake shudder and mutters, “Disgusting straight porn.”

“Only call you when it’s gonna be gay porn. Got it.”

His tone turns snide as he tells Ichigo, “I don’t appreciate your childish attempts to confuse me.”

He shrugs even though Ishida probably can’t see it in the near-darkness. “Sometimes I watch straight porn and sometimes I watch gay porn. What’s confusing about that?”

A lot, judging by his expression. Unable to see clearly without his glasses, Ishida sits up to squint at him across the room. “If you’re messing with me again…”

“I never said I was straight, did I? You made that assumption all on your own. Thanks for stereotyping me, by the way. Should’ve just asked if you were curious.”

Ignoring the dig, he cautiously asks, “Are you saying you’re bisexual?”

“I guess. Does it matter?” He doesn’t reply but the way he’s staring makes Ichigo think something might be wrong. Easing upright to make direct eye contact, he repeats, “ _Does_ it matter to you, Ishida?”

“No,” he says quietly. Then more confidently, “No, it doesn’t make any difference to me whether you like men or women or both. Why would it?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Settling back against the sheets, Ishida flatly states, “There’s nothing to tell.”

Ichigo gets the feeling he’s annoyed. Was he supposed to tell Ishida all this the day they met, or what? It’s not like he’s been keeping it a secret. The subject just hadn’t come up yet.

In an effort to lighten the mood, Ichigo announces, “Just so you don’t freak out or anything, I should warn you…”

“What is it?”

There’s so much foreboding embedded in Ishida’s question that he can’t keep a straight face as he shares, “It’s a rare morning that I don’t wake up with a boner.”

“Oh, my god, Kurosaki!” He rolls to face away from him and covers his head with the blanket. “TMI!”


	4. Chapter 4

Living with Ishida isn’t as strange as they both anticipated. After the initial tensions were hashed out, it was a lot like how he imagined sharing a dorm room would be. They get on each other’s nerves sometimes but they also talk a lot more. They discovered they’re decent study-buddies. They like a lot of the same music, games, manga, and movies. The best and strangest thing about living with Ishida is the way they somehow sense when the other is brooding and manage to coax them out of it every time. It’s actually kind of awesome.

It only takes about two weeks before everything starts to go sideways.

They are walking home from school Friday afternoon, bickering about something totally inane, when it happens. Ishida stops dead in the middle of his sentence and goes rigid where he stands.

“What’s wrong?” asks Ichigo.

There is no response but following his line of sight, the answer instantly becomes unnecessary. Onijima and his merry band of rabble-rousers are approaching from across the street with aggressive purpose. There is a white bandage across his nose and a murderous look in his eyes. Ichigo instinctively steps forward to put himself between them and Ishida.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite pair of fags,” Onijima simpers, raising a round of cackling from about two dozen underlings. “Imagine meeting you here! Guess that tip Asano gave us was good after all.”

“Asano?” murmurs Ishida behind him. “I thought he was your friend.”

Mouth tilting into a foul-tempered sneer, Ichigo grumbles back, “So did I.”

He’s gearing up for a brawl, but Ishida surprises him by moving in front and pushing Ichigo toward a nearby alley.

“Go, Kurosaki.”

“Huh?”

“I’m the one they want,” Ishida says over his shoulder. “You need to go before they surround us.”

Ichigo scoffs and drags him backward by the scruff of his jacket, away from the encroaching bullies. “Shut up with that bullshit. If one of us is running away, it’s gonna be you.”

Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, Ishida fiercely hisses, “We don’t stand a chance against their numbers and there’s no reason for both of us to suffer, so hurry up and get lost!”

“Fuck that! What part of ‘I’ll protect you’ are you not understanding, Ishida?”

“I don’t care what you promised, I’m telling you to leave!”

“You—”

“I hate to interrupt your lovers’ quarrel,” says Onijima to the accompaniment of more snickering, “but neither of you are going anywhere. I already told you I’d rip your boyfriend a new one if you didn’t cooperate, Ishida. Then you went and let him break my god damn nose! I had to spend a weekend in the hospital because of you!”

Ichigo glances at Ishida, who roughly dislodges his hold and avoids his questioning gaze at all costs. The reason he was so hesitant to put Onijima in his place that day under the stairwell was because he’d threatened Ichigo? Would Ishida really let himself get used by that cretin for Ichigo’s sake? The thought is simultaneously endearing and _infuriating_. He and Ishida will need to have a little chat about this later.

Turning back to the thugs, Ichigo darkly offers, “I’d be happy to break a few more bones if you’re itching to go back.”

Onijima’s amusement sours and he marches forward to get in Ichigo’s face. “Bet you won’t be cracking lame jokes after I’m done with you.”

“You think I’m gonna be scared of someone who brings twenty guys to fight two? Fucking coward. Why don’t you face me like a man instead of hiding behind your lackeys?”

He sees Onijima’s punch coming but he doesn’t dodge. Ichigo lets it connect with his stomach, lets the air whoosh out of his lungs, and lets his body double over from the pain. Then he straightens, stares Onijima in the eyes, and smiles because he knows how this is going to end. But Ishida doesn’t, and he launches himself at Onijima with a short growl like a pissed-off panther. Ichigo grabs him before the first attack lands, dragging him back despite his struggling.

“Let me go, Kurosaki!”

“Not yet,” he says under his breath right beside Ishida’s ear. “Just wait.”

“For _what_?”

The sound of footfalls and chatter spills into the road from three sides. Ishida stills in his hold as he recognizes some of the newcomers and, clever as he is, starts to put it all together in seconds.

“For them,” Ichigo replies, smile widening into a grin. “What took you so long?”

Stopping about four meters from the startled group who walked straight into a trap, Renji taunts, “We got a bite to eat on the way. Whaddya think?”

“Whatever. You guys ready to bash these pathetic gay-bashers, or what?”

A bunch of Ichigo’s buddies plus half of the kendo and soccer clubs crack knuckles, adopt battle stances, and toss mocking words at the now-nervous collective in question. Chad, Ikkaku, Yumichika, and even Keigo—who fed them the bait under pretense of betrayal—have come out to join the fun they all planned earlier that day. They may not give a crap about Ishida one way or the other, but none of them were opposed to the idea of beating down the school’s most notorious bigots.

Ishida shoves him off and declares, “Nobody touches Onijima. He’s _mine_.”

The sheer malice in his tone sends a shiver down Ichigo’s spine. It’s both disturbing and sort of sexy how ferocious Ishida can get when he’s really, really mad.

“Come at me, Princess.”

Enraged beyond reason, Ishida strikes hard and fast. Onijima’s dumb ass doesn’t even know what he’s in for.

Ichigo gives the signal that sends everyone rushing in and all hell breaks loose. Jabs and kicks create cries and crunching bones. Uniforms get splattered with blood and dusted with dirt. Bodies hit the ground, get slammed against walls, and tossed into garbage cans lining the sidewalks. Someone walking their dog spots the melee from afar and makes a tight u-turn to go back the way they came. Ichigo would laugh if he wasn’t busy pummeling the loser who grabbed Ishida by the throat not so long ago.

The battle is over fairly quickly. All of the homophobic punks who have been making Ishida’s life hell for the past two years are sprawled across the concrete, passed out or whining over their injuries. Ichigo’s friends are giving each other high-fives and trash-talking their defeated enemies. Even Ishida seems satisfied with the pound of flesh he has taken from Onijima, lying prone against a lamp post with blood dripping from the hair line above his temple and one of his eyebrows. The eye below it is in the process of swelling shut. Ichigo wonders if he should check for a pulse.

Walking over to Ishida, he asks, “Feel better?”

“A little.”

“Here,” Ichigo says and hands over a travel pack of tissues Yuzu gave him forever ago. “You’ve got some blood on your face, Cujo.”

Ishida takes one out and dabs at the mess without a hint of humility in the wake of his brutal rampage.

Shaking his head at Onijima’s sorry state, Ichigo crouches in front of him and taps his cheek to jolt him out of his stupor. Onijima’s one good eye opens to blink at him and he gasps to recognize the person who thoroughly shut his whole operation down.

“D-don’t hurt me anymore, please!”

“Swear you’ll never bother Ishida again and maybe I’ll talk him out of going in for round two.”

“Yes, I swear,” he rasps, wincing as a slight movement causes unexpected pain. “I won’t go near him.”

“Actually, don’t you think it’s best if you switch schools?” Ichigo casually suggests with a thoughtful lilt to his voice. “It’d be a shame if you accidentally bumped into him in the hall or something. Then we’d really have to make you pay.”

“I-I’ll call the school f-first thing on Monday,” Onijima emphatically agrees.

“Good idea.” Rising to stand, he asks Ishida, “Anything you wanna add?”

“Just one.” Onijima whimpers as a shoe is pressed threateningly against his groin. “If you ever treat anyone the same way you treated me, I will track you down and _amputate_ your favorite appendage. Is that clear?”

“Yes! I’m sorry, okay? Please,” he blubbers until Ishida removes his foot. “I’m sorry.”

Ichigo stares at his friend, thinking there’s a decent chance he isn’t bluffing in the slightest, and resolves to never get on Ishida’s bad side if he can help it.

“Let’s get out of here before the cops show up,” Ichigo advises. Ishida nods and follows his lead. “Thanks, everyone. I owe you guys.”

“Nah,” dismisses Ikkaku. “This is the most fun I’ve had all week.”

“Not like we had anythin’ better to do,” Renji mutters.

Chad gives him a thumbs up and Keigo babbles about how cool everybody looked smacking those idiots around, like something out of a manga. Shaking his head, Ichigo waves at the rest of his crew before turning to head home.

They travel in silence all the way there. Ishida seems preoccupied with his own musings. He doesn’t speak one word until after they make it to the relative privacy of Ichigo’s bedroom. They ditch their school bags and jackets as usual, but then Ishida comes up to him and starts unbuttoning the front of his shirt. Ichigo freezes, completely blindsided by this development and unsure how to react. He wonders if this is Ishida’s way of showing appreciation. Does he intend to do Ichigo one of those ‘weird favors’ Onijima was so keen to force from him?

Honestly uncertain how he feels about the prospect, his hands catch Ishida’s as he asks, “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to check for bruised or fractured ribs. Onijima hit you pretty hard, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but—Ow!”

Ishida finishes parting his shirt and presses at a tender spot right below his diaphragm, humming inquisitively. “Bruised but not fractured. It should heal within a few days.”

“I coulda told you that,” Ichigo gripes. “Don’t just go poking and prodding at me whenever you want.”

“I wouldn’t have to ‘poke and prod’ if you had blocked his sloppy punch. You can’t tell me you didn’t see it coming.”

“‘Course I did, but if I’d blocked I would’ve countered out of habit and kicked off the fight too early.”

“You should’ve told me what you were plotting,” Ishida reprimands with his tone.

“You should’ve told me what _Onijima_ was plotting,” he retorts just as sharply. “I can’t believe you’d even consider letting him do anything to you so he wouldn’t go after me! What the hell were you thinking, Ishida?”

“I was thinking that you’ve got a damn _hero complex_ and you’re the type to rush in headfirst without considering the consequences! Excuse me if I’m hesitant to drag anyone else into the shit-storm I’ve been living ever since I turned him down the first time!”

Ichigo can’t keep from grabbing the boy’s shoulders and pulling him in close to yell, “If I’ve got a ‘hero complex’ then you’ve got a fucking _martyr_ complex! Quit trying to throw yourself under the bus for someone else’s sake!”

Ishida smacks the bruise on Ichigo’s abdomen, making him grunt and give up his grip to hold his stomach instead. “You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do for anyone after the stunt you pulled today. Talk about a stupid risk!”

“What risk? It went off without a hitch!”

“Because you got lucky,” Ishida insists. “If I had known—”

“Then you would’ve tried to talk me out of it, which is why I didn’t tell you.” He gives a frustrated growl and goes to sulk on the edge of his bed. Sighing, Ichigo says, “Look, I get it. Your instinct is to push everyone back from the line of fire, but I already told you that’s not gonna work this time.”

“What kind of masochistic idiot sticks around someone who keeps trying to kick them away?”

Ishida’s question is rhetorical but he shrugs and answers, “The kind who can see you’re only doing it ‘cause you’re a good person.”

“Idiot…” His fingers bunch in the blanket beneath him and he still won’t even glance up. Ichigo sits next to him knowing he’ll complain. “Why can’t you just leave me alone for _five seconds_?”

“Because you don’t want me to.”

His head snaps up at that. Ishida regards him with an odd mix of awe and anxiety like he can’t believe Ichigo saw right through him. Ishida turns his face away again but the hair he’s used to hiding behind is all covering the wrong side, so Ichigo sees the way his eyes squeeze shut in resignation.

“It’s your fault for being nice to me.”

“My bad,” he says with a hint of humor. “Friends are supposed to be there for each other, y’know. Just like you were there for me when Onijima threw that sucker punch.”

Biting his lip as if he’s a tad ashamed of his wild behavior in retrospect, Ishida relaxes his grip on the blanket and carefully exhales.

“Thank you, Kurosaki,” he softly says, slowly looking up at him. “I never would’ve had the courage to stand up to that bastard without your help.”

Ichigo gazes back, reveling in Ishida’s rare open and earnest expression. Actually, this might be the first time he has ever looked at Ichigo like this. Does it mean Ishida finally trusts him enough to let his guard down a little? The notion makes Ichigo smile, which only spreads to see Ishida tentatively mirroring it. His eyes drop to their hands positioned so close to each other on the bed and Ichigo gets the strangest urge to curl his fingers around Ishida’s.

Embarrassed by his own thoughts, Ichigo swallows and replies, “Yeah, no problem.”

There doesn’t seem to be anything else to say but they don’t return to normal after-school business. They don’t break eye contact even when it verges on uncomfortable. They stay still, barely breathing and locked into this moment for reasons Ichigo doesn’t want to analyze. It almost feels like they’re gravitating toward each other one millimeter at a time; he sort of wants to find out what happens when there’s no space left between them.

Except he already knows what will happen because he’s not that naïve. His gaze finally slides from holding Ishida’s to seek his mouth instead. Ichigo realizes he’s wondering what the kiss will be like, how warm and smooth Ishida’s lips might feel against his. How will he react if Ichigo nudges his tongue inside? What types of noises will Ishida make if he is pushed to lie on the mattress by a hand slipping under his shirt to stroke across his skin? Will he let Ichigo slide that hand down his belly and under the waistline of his slacks to—

Ishida stands up and clears his throat to gently remind, “Yuzu-chan will be calling us down for dinner soon. We should finish getting changed so we won’t be late.”

Blinking away the haze of a dangerous daydream, Ichigo quietly agrees, “Right. Yeah.”

Nobody hears from Onijima after that weekend. Rumors are circulating around the school that he suddenly transferred and no one knows why. Ichigo’s friends aren’t dumb enough to brag about their accomplishment and Onijima’s ex-minions are too humiliated to go tattling on anyone. Without their ring leader designating targets, they don’t try ganging up on other students anymore, either. And just like that, Ishida is free.

A new world of opportunity is open to him now, and Ichigo introduces him to it by guiding him to the roof during lunch one day.

“I’m not ready yet, Kurosaki,” he whines in a last-ditch effort to get out of having to do this. “I’ll meet your friends some other time.”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks, Ishida. Suck it up and rip off the band-aid already.”

He groans unhappily, then squawks indignantly when Ichigo yanks him forward by the front of his uniform jacket. His heel hits the bar bisecting the door and they burst out onto the school roof with a clamor of mistreated metal. A wide circle of seated students glance up to watch them noisily enter the scene. Ishida elbows him in the side to make him let go and calmly straightens rumpled clothing before addressing the group.

“Ishida Uryuu. Nice to meet you all.”

Rubbing his aching side, Ichigo says, “He’ll be eating lunch with us from now on.”

Ishida shoots him a glare for the assertion but doesn’t argue. He lets Ichigo tug him down to sit with everyone else and obligingly accepts the bento he is handed.

“Welcome, Ishida-kun!”

“Thank you, Inoue-san.” Looking at Renji and Keigo in turn, he adds, “And thank you both for your assistance last Friday.”

“Meh,” grunts Renji with a shrug. “Those assholes had it comin’.”

“Yeah,” Keigo agrees. “You’re not the only one they’d been messing with.”

Ichigo gives him a look that says ‘see, told you my friends are cool’ and Ishida snaps apart his chopsticks without a word.

All the relevant introductions are made, boring conversation is exchanged, and lunch is eaten. It’s all going pretty well until Rukia opens her big fat mouth.

“So, Ishida-kun, is it true that you’re gay?”

Choking on his rice, Ichigo starts to shout something at the nosy little twerp but Ishida surprises everybody by saying, “Yes, it is.”

“Oooh, I’ve never had a gay guy friend before!”

“None that you were aware of, anyway,” he replies with a covert glance at Ichigo. “What is it about us that you find so fascinating, Kuchiki-san?”

“I don’t know…Maybe I like the idea of a boy I could do girly things with?”

“Such as?”

“Shopping?” Rukia tries. “Mani/pedis and makeovers?”

“Since when do you care about any of that shit?” challenges Renji, who earns a smack for his trouble.

“Talking about other boys,” offers Tatsuki with a playful smirk. “Sharing gossip.”

“And recipes!” Inoue pipes up next. “Watching dramas together. Oh! Did you know Ishida-kun can _sew_?”

“Really?” asks Rukia. “Are you any good?”

“The best!” Inoue answers for him. “He used to be in the Handicrafts Club.”

At this point all the dudes in attendance except Ishida are shifting uncomfortably, faces scrunched up from emotional constipation.

“You should start going again,” Ichigo says without looking up from his bento. “Archery club’s got an opening, too.”

Rukia smiles in delight. “Archery? Impressive. The only thing these idiots know how to do is swing a wooden stick at each other.”

“Hey! Kendo is an ancient and honorable tradition,” Renji defends.

“What about martial arts?” Tatsuki wants to know. “Any good at karate?”

“Ask Kurosaki.”

Ichigo nods and Tatsuki whistles, knowing he wouldn’t endorse a novice. “We should really spar sometime.”

Referencing Ichigo for his opinion on the matter, Ishida notes the subtle shake of his head and wisely prevaricates, “I’ll think about it, Arisawa-san.”

“I have a better idea,” announces Rukia, a dash of mischief in her demeanor. “Why don’t we have a girl’s night?”

“Sounds like fun!” Inoue seconds as Tatsuki laughs.

“Um,” Ishida balks, finally losing a smidge of his perfect composure.

Sensing weakness, Ichigo can’t help teasing, “Go on, Ishida. It’ll be a great way to get to know each other.”

“You’re invited, too, Kurosaki-kun,” chirps Inoue.

“Huh? But I—”

“Unless you’re too _manly_ to hang out with a bunch of chicks,” Tatsuki ruthlessly mocks.

The other manly men keep silent, terrified they’ll be ‘invited’ next. Ishida is smirking at his expense behind a sip of juice. Ichigo knows what he must do.

“Fine,” he says and snickers to hear Ishida spluttering in shock. “We’ll both go.”

Appealing to be saved with his expression, he murmurs, “Kurosaki…”

“Relax, I’m sure it’ll be a blast. Right, ladies?”

The three giddy women cheer as dread turns Ishida pitifully pale.

An early spring breeze and blood orange rays of the setting sun spill into Inoue’s apartment through an open window. Some obnoxiously poppy dance music is playing from the laptop Rukia brought over without consulting anyone on their musical preferences. She is painting Ishida’s toenails a shimmery blue color while he decorates Inoue’s long, long hair with intricate braids. Listening to Tatsuki’s anecdote about one of her karate tournaments, no one is paying any attention to the way Ichigo is gloomily munching on the array of snacks spread across the low table they’re encircling.

In addition to the candy, crackers, chips, and cookies are a bunch of things he never thought he’d get this close to by choice. Paints, powders, creams, brushes, and a lot of other stuff he doesn’t know the names of are up for grabs—only Ichigo isn’t grabbing anything. He’s too busy brooding over the fact that he’s subjecting himself to this sacred female bonding ceremony all because he wanted to mess with Ishida, who doesn’t seem to mind it at all. The pretty little jerk fits right in with women, and he wonders why Ishida’s so gentle to them yet so harsh to Ichigo.

“Oh, no!” Inoue says and claps a hand over her mouth. “We’re almost out of chocolate!”

“That’s because Kurosaki keeps eating it all.”

“Shut it, Ishida. You drank all the damn tea.”

“I’ll make a supply run,” offers Tatsuki. “I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

The door shuts behind her and a timer goes off in the kitchen. Inoue asks Rukia to help decorate the cupcakes she baked and suddenly Ichigo is alone with Ishida for the first time all day.

Perusing the selection of fingernail paints, Ishida asks, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Black.”

“Black isn’t a color,” he informs Ichigo, pushing up his glasses. “Technically, it’s the absence of all light and color.”

He rolls his eyes and says, “Red, then. What’s yours?”

“White.”

“White’s not a color, either, you hypocrite!”

“Technically, white is the accumulation of all light and color.”

“Yeah, well _technically_ anything that appears white is actually black and vice versa because objects only reflect colors they don’t absorb. So there.”

Ishida studies him for a moment like he’s not sure what to say to that. In the end, he commends, “Well said, Kurosaki.”

“Thanks,” he grouchily grunts, scratching the back of his head.

“I had no idea you were capable of sentient observations.”

“Hey!” Scooting closer to him, Ishida plucks a bottle of black paint from the lineup and takes firm hold of Ichigo’s hand. “Who said I want my nails painted?”

“You’re not getting out of this unscathed when you’re the one who dragged us here.”

“Ugh…”

In spite of his outspoken reluctance, he sits more or less still while Ishida deftly paints the fingernails of one, then the other hand. At least he’s doing a decent job. Ichigo tenses when he leans forward to blow on a thumbnail, but it’s just so he can add a bright red stripe down the middle of both without smearing the paint. He inspects Ishida’s finished work and decides it actually looks sort of cool. Now Ichigo feels compelled to do something girly to him in return.

There’s a small bowl of minty green goop with a flat, fanned out brush beside it. He snatches them up and tells Ishida, “Tie your hair back so I can turn you into the swamp monster.”

“I don’t want a facial.”

“I don’t care. You’re getting one anyway.”

Sighing dramatically, he takes a clip from the mysterious pile of feminine artifacts and combs his hair back to secure atop his head. Ichigo stares, cheeks heating because he can’t help thinking Ishida looks kind of cute like that.

Ichigo shakes himself out of it and moves to straddle one of his legs with bent knees. It’s the only way he can reach without straining but it still feels weird. Apparently, Ishida is thinking the same thing since he starts leaning away to put distance between them. Ichigo reflexively catches him with a palm cupped around the back of his neck and Ishida gasps, going stone-still. Ichigo can feel a strong shiver raising gooseflesh under his touch.

He lets go and apologizes, though he’s not sure what he did wrong.

“It’s okay.” Ishida meets his confused gaze for a split-second before looking askance. He can tell Ichigo hasn’t got a clue, so he shyly explains, “Touching the back of someone’s neck is…it’s a very intimate gesture. A potent instinctual reaction is triggered in the brain’s neurochemistry. Positive or negative, depending on the level of trust in any given relationship.”

Resorting to big words and science jargon is Ishida’s go-to method of dealing with being extremely flustered; it seems Ichigo ‘triggered’ a very ‘potent reaction’ indeed. Whether good or bad, he can’t be sure without asking directly—which is not an option. Absolutely not. But he remembers when he held the back of Ishida’s neck in the breezeway during lunch weeks ago. He shivered then, too, but he also calmed down enough to speak with Ichigo rather than shoving him into the wall again. That could be considered a ‘positive’ reaction, right?

Eh, but with Ishida, who knows?

Ichigo is about to reverse and forget all about the stupid facial idea when Ishida takes off his glasses, shuts his eyes, and tilts his face up in unspoken permission to continue. He swallows the moisture collecting on his tongue and tries not to dwell on the trust Ishida is showing him right now. Or what it means for their relationship.

The brush is dipped into green paste and slathered across Ishida’s forehead. He doesn’t flinch or gasp or go all stiff this time. He props up on arms extended behind him and lets Ichigo have free reign. As he contours the cooling masque to curves and angles, he thinks Ishida really doesn’t need it because his skin is already lovely. The word _intimate, intimate, intimate_ swirls around and around in Ichigo’s head. _It’s a very intimate gesture_ , whispers Ishida’s voice like a tease. Or maybe seduction. Even if it’s entirely unintended, Ichigo is pretty sure it’s working.

There is a flash of light and both of them turn to see Rukia wielding her phone with a devious grin.

“The hell, Rukia? Did you just take a picture of us?”

“You would, too, if you knew how adorable you guys look!”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, did you two need some more alone-time? I’ll just be over there ‘til you’re done.”

Muttering under his breath, he stops cold when he notices Ishida staring up at him. His pupils have gone rogue, spreading wide to almost eclipse his irises. The sight does something to Ichigo’s stomach that makes his heart stutter and his mouth go dry. It’s the same as that day in the bathroom after breaking Onijima’s nose, except Ishida definitely doesn’t have a concussion right now.

Ichigo ignores all of it and finishes up the rest of Ishida’s jaw line for the sake of completion. Then he sets the stuff aside and stands to head for the bathroom.

He splashes cool water on his face and tells himself he needs to chill out. Regardless of his complicated feelings for the boy, Ichigo knows he needs to keep himself in check. The last thing he wants is for Ishida to start comparing him with Onijima. As traumatized as he is by that pervert, the slightest notion that Ichigo might want him in a sexual way could send him running. He couldn’t stand it if Ishida feared or resented him over something like that, so the best course of action to remain on amiable terms is for Ichigo to keep his desires to himself. Most important of all, Ishida needs a friend, not a _stalker._

Ichigo will be good. He won’t let on that he’s hot for Ishida and everything will be fine. Everything will be totally fine.

Equipped with something like a plan of action, Ichigo is about to emerge from his hiding spot when someone knocks on the door.

“ _Hurry up, Kurosaki, I need to wash off this masque._ ”

Already? How long has Ichigo been staring at himself in the mirror while having a minor panic attack? He opens the door and Ishida walks right in without waiting for him to exit. In fact, he keeps Ichigo from slipping past by reaching behind him to swipe a wash cloth from the cabinet. Ishida wets it at the sink, wrings out excess water, and goes to scrubbing his face clean. He spots Ichigo watching him through the mirror and arches an eyebrow in silent question.

“Are you ready to make up an excuse and go home?”

“Arisawa-san isn’t even back yet.”

He frowns and asks, “Are you actually enjoying all of this, Ishida?”

“So what if I am? There’s nothing wrong with learning new grooming techniques.”

“Do you plan on going to school with sparkly blue nails from now on?”

“Would it bother you if I did?” Ichigo doesn’t respond, which only makes him act more self-righteous. “What if I started wearing make-up and sprinkling glitter in my hair? Would you still follow me around calling me your friend even though we both know how you really feel?”

Red alert! His pulse picks up and his heart jumps into his throat but he plays dumb. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you need me to say it for you, Kurosaki?”

A bead of sweat drips down the side of his neck to soak into his shirt collar. “Say _what_?”

“That you don’t think of me as a friend,” Ishida says, raising his voice in aggravation. “You never did. You just made an impulsive promise and now you’re too proud to admit it was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake! I—”

“I know you regret having me stay with you. I can tell you don’t want me in your home. You don’t even like hanging out with me, do you?”

Ichigo can’t believe what he’s hearing. All along Ishida has been under these awful impressions without saying a word. The thought that he believes he’s an unwanted guest, just someone to be _tolerated_ churns painfully in Ichigo’s gut. It makes him speak filter-free.

“Of course I like you, idiot!” His outburst shuts Ishida right up, for good reason. Ichigo cringes and amends, “I mean, I like hanging out with you. I don’t know what made you think otherwise but I don’t regret anything, Ishida. Not my promise to protect you, not letting you stay with me, and sure as hell not being your friend.”

He’s at a total loss for how to process Ichigo’s vehement statements. Rather than replying right away, he rinses his face with warm water and dries it with a hand towel. The clip keeping his hair contained is removed and placed on the counter. Only then does Ishida turn to regard him properly.

“The way you look at me sometimes, I thought…” He pauses, visibly collecting himself. “You can be so awkward, like you don’t know how to act around me, but you’re fine with anyone else.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re not like anyone else,” Ichigo quietly claims.

“Why do we fight over the most trivial things and constantly taunt each other?”

“We’re both too stubborn for our own good.” Flicking a stray lock of Ishida’s messy hair, he adds, “And teasing you is too fun.”

“Kurosaki, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Releasing a weary sigh, he reaches for the door but Ichigo pulls him away from it. “I’m serious about our friendship. If you don’t want me to tease you anymore—”

“I’m not saying that,” he says toward the floor between them. “I just want to know you’ll be honest with me. If you’re sick of me being around all the time, then say so.”

“I would, if that was how I felt.” Ishida looks up, eyes all wide and unsure, and Ichigo has to fend off a powerful impulse to hug him until he feels better. “Maybe I like you being around all the time. Did that ever occur to you?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, it’s true so quit feeling insecure and go back to bitching at me like usual. Okay?”

The odds that he’ll either hit Ichigo or smile are about a fifty-fifty split, but he really doesn’t expect Ishida to do _both_.

Mouth curling into a reluctant smile, he punches Ichigo in the shoulder and orders, “Shut up and get us out of here.”


	5. Chapter 5

It’s a rare morning that Ichigo wakes up at dawn, and equally rare that Ishida doesn’t. Today is special, in a shitty sort of way, but also not shitty at all because Ichigo gets to stand beside his roommate’s bed and stare as long as he wants. Ishida won’t mind if he doesn’t even know about it.

Ichigo watches him for a minute before he notices the way Ishida’s face subtly scrunches in displeasure. He makes a short, quiet noise which backs up Ichigo’s theory that he’s having a bad dream. What kind of friend would he be not to rouse Ishida from the perils of his own imagination?

Heavily plopping onto the side of his mattress, Ichigo loudly says, “Hey, Ishida, wake up.”

He jolts awake with a soft gasp and bemusedly blinks up at him. “Kurosaki? What ‘s it?”

“Good morning to you, too.”

Ishida sits upright, rubbing sleepily at his eyes, and automatically reaches for his glasses. Once he has them on, he gives Ichigo a pissy look and gripes, “It’s Sunday. Why are you up so early? Don’t you usually sleep until noon on the weekends?”

“Gimme a break, I did that _once._ ” Knowing one of the first things Ishida does when he gets up is drink some water, Ichigo swipes a half-full bottle from the nightstand and hands it over as he explains, “Believe me, I’d still be asleep if Goat-Chin hadn’t woken me up.”

“I thought he stopped doing that after I moved in,” Ishida says in the tone of a question, unscrewing the cap to take a swig.

“Yeah, well not on the day we’re all supposed to go to the cemetery together.”

He halts mid-sip to solemnly appraise Ichigo. “Your mother?” The answer is a shallow nod. “I see…”

Ishida doesn’t know what to say and that’s okay. Ichigo doesn’t blame him for feeling awkward. He doesn’t expect anything from Ishida, even though they both lost their moms around the same time. They both went through the same misery and made it through a little stronger than before. None of it needs to be said and Ichigo isn’t waiting for any kind of consolation just because the subject came up. He knows Ishida wouldn’t want to make it a ‘thing’, either, if it were the anniversary of his mother’s death.

“I just wanted to let you know we’ll be gone most of the day since Karin and Yuzu always put together a picnic.”

“All right.” He finishes off his water and tells Ichigo, “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“You probably want to study or something but it’s cool if you come with us.”

“Oh…” Ishida lets his surprise show unedited for a change. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your family time.”

“Nah, it’s no big deal. Dad said you’re pretty much family anyway so he’s fine with it.” Ichigo smiles at the way his mild surprise turns to astonishment, then embarrassment. “No pressure, though. I already told them you have other stuff to do.”

He starts to stand up and finish getting ready but Ishida pulls him back down. “I’ll go.”

It’s Ichigo’s turn to be surprised. “Really?”

“Friends are supposed to be there for each other, right?” Likely mistaking shock for disappointment, Ishida nervously stammers, “U-unless you don’t want me to.”

His smile makes a comeback, threatening to become a grin. “Hurry up and get dressed. We’re leaving soon.”

The walk across town feels shorter than usual. Ichigo doesn’t have time to brood or anything like that when Ishida and the twins keep dragging him into conversation. If he didn’t know better he’d say they’re distracting him on purpose. They can all tell he’s more likely to be in a foul mood because of the poor weather. His mom died on a rainy day, and the dark clouds gathering above are just waiting for the perfect moment to start pouring.

They make it to the memorial with no trouble. The morning is shaping up to be almost pleasant. But Isshin ruins it by wrapping an arm around Ishida’s shoulders and corralling him in front of Masaki’s headstone for an awkward introduction.

“This is our adopted son, Uryuu!” he cheerfully announces, and Ichigo’s sisters burst into a giggle fit as Ishida turns beet-red. “He’ll be helping out in the clinic for a while. I’ll teach him everything I know!”

The part-time job Ishida wound up taking—by Isshin’s obnoxious insistence—was being an assistant for the clinic. Something about college credit and flexible hours…Ichigo wasn’t really paying attention at the time. He was just glad to hear Ishida would finally get his own cell phone since Isshin needed a reliable way to reach him in case of patient emergencies.

“N-nice to meet you,” he murmurs and gives a modest bow.

Ichigo takes pity on him and steps in to nudge them apart. He promises his mother, “I’ll try to make sure Dad doesn’t scare him off the medical profession for life.”

The girls are still laughing when Ishida weakly acknowledges, “I’d appreciate that.”

Once everyone says their piece and pays their respects, they spread out a broad blanket in the adjacent park to eat. Ishida helped make a couple of the side-dishes and Yuzu is quick to praise his skills, which branches into a discussion on culinary techniques. Ichigo stops listening halfway through. He doesn’t even pay full attention when Isshin launches into some goofy story about how their mother used to do this or that when they were little. Ichigo has heard it all a hundred times already.

When he’s had enough, he gets up and walks away.

“Where is he going?” he hears Ishida ask before he’s out of earshot.

Karin’s simple reply is, “He always does that whenever we come out here.”

It’s true. Every year they visit and reminisce. Every year Ichigo reaches a point when he needs to wander off alone. He really hates this day, especially when it rains.

He paces aimlessly through the shrubs and trees dotting the spacious park area. The first drops finally begin to fall. Ichigo pauses near a wide trunk, shuts his eyes, and turns his face up toward the sky. He knows his mother’s death wasn’t his fault; he stopped blaming himself a long time ago. But it doesn’t make the memory of watching her get hit by that car any less painful.

Moments later he can’t feel the rain pelting his skin anymore, although he can still hear it colliding with the earth all around him. He opens his eyes and finds Ishida standing beside him, holding an umbrella over them.

“Don’t bother,” he grumbles. “I’m already soaked.”

“Wish I’d known that earlier.” Ichigo watches him collapse the compact umbrella and push it most of the way into a pocket. “I’m the only one who brought an umbrella. The others went to wait out the storm in the shrine.”

“You should go with them.” He moves to lean against the tree behind him. Ishida takes the spot to his left. “You’ll get sick if you stay.”

“Then I guess we’ll be coughing and sneezing on each other all week.”

It’s a comical image but Ichigo doesn’t laugh. He wants to tell Ishida to take off his rain-spattered glasses so he can see his eyes clearly. Then Ichigo wants to ease in and kiss him, the taste of rain transitioning to the taste of just Ishida on his tongue. It would make him feel a lot better, he knows, but it’s not worth risking their friendship. He tilts his head back onto bark and sighs.

The rain starts to pick up but neither of them seems to care. They don’t speak. They don’t need to because sharing each other’s company is enough. He is aware that Ishida chose to stay as moral support. Ichigo asked him to come for the hell of it without anticipating he would say yes, much less stick by him when needed most. He’s grateful. The only way he can think to show it is by lightly brushing the back of his hand against Ishida’s. It feels weird and silly and nice. He sort of wants to do it again.

Holding his hand would be even better.

The instant that thought crosses Ichigo’s mind, he feels fingers grazing the backs of his. He keeps his gaze straight ahead and Ishida does the same. Neither of them give any sign that they’ve realized what their hands are doing, ostensibly of their own volition. Not even when Ichigo slides fingertips down his palm and Ishida snugly fits their hands together like lock-and-key. It feels so good Ichigo has to suck in a deep breath and let it slowly slip out.

He’s so grateful. But he’s sad, too, because this doesn’t mean what he wishes it did. This is just Ishida being a really awesome friend, not hinting he wants to be closer the same way Ichigo does. It hurts, but he’s not about to let that show. Getting this far has been hard enough without him doing something dumb to ruin everything.

The rain is falling faster, heavier and he can feel the way Ishida starts to quake from the cold.

Pulling his hand free, he decides, “We should go home. The storm won’t pass anytime soon.”

“Kurosaki, I…” His voice is urgent but his expression is hesitant. Ichigo waits, and all he says is, “Never mind. Let’s go.”

They rush through the streets but don’t run. Ishida’s silence is oppressive and Ichigo blames himself. His dour mood rubbed off on the boy, so now they’re both sulky. It seems like he should do something to fix it.

When they walk into the house, kicking off sodden shoes, Ichigo thinks about the clinic’s newest part-timer and tries to joke, “I still can’t believe you agreed to work with my dad.”

“He’s paying me very well,” Ishida reasons as they ascend the stairs. “Better than he should. Probably due to the fact that I mentioned I’m trying to save up for my own place.”

“Yeah?” Ichigo asks, suddenly tense. Pushing open his bedroom door, he wonders, “How’s that going?”

“I should have enough soon,” replies Ishida as he sets aside streaky glasses. “Maybe even by next week, depending on how many patients we get.”

Ichigo halts in the middle of the room, a thousand emotions cascading over him in ruthless succession. It almost brings him to his knees.

“Is that so?”

Something in his voice must broadcast his distress because Ishida immediately turns to check on him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” claims Ichigo, but he still can’t bring himself to budge.

“Kurosaki,” he begins in a gentle tone, “is it about your mother?”

“It has nothing to do with her!”

Ishida is too stunned to speak for a long moment. He studies Ichigo, trying to puzzle him out so he’ll know how to help. But Ishida can’t fix it if Ichigo isn’t entirely sure what’s broken. All he knows is the thought of Ishida leaving feels like a serrated blade ripping into his chest. Ichigo knows it’s ridiculous. Ishida isn’t _leaving_ , he’s just moving somewhere else. But that means Ichigo won’t get to see him as often anymore. They won’t wake up together and stumble downstairs to eat breakfast every day. Won’t walk back from school and do their homework. Won’t argue over what to listen to or watch. Won’t study or go to fun places on the weekends. Won’t talk about the latest book or manga they read. Won’t make each other laugh or sigh or gripe.

He doesn’t want any of that to stop. Doesn’t want to miss Ishida and wonder what he’s doing at any given time. Ichigo has no idea when he became so dependent on their daily interactions but he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to give it up.

Obviously worried, Ishida comes to stand in front of him as he demands, “Will you quit acting like a lunatic and just talk to me?”

“You really wanna know what’s bugging me?” Ichigo angrily asks.

“Yes, I do, so—”

“I don’t want you to go!” he yells, experiencing both catharsis and remorse for exploding like this. “I want you to stay because…”

“Because what?”

He still looks worried, but for a different reason now. Ichigo knows he should stop here and tell him to forget the whole thing.

Instead, he stares straight into those ocean-blue eyes and confesses, “Because I like you, Ishida. I think about you constantly, even when you’re right beside me. I want to be around you all the time and just the idea of you moving out makes me crazy.” Ichigo shuts his eyes when the discomfiture of all that honesty catches up to him. “And I’m sorry ‘cause I know you don’t want to hear any of this. I never meant to tell you but—”  
  


He cuts himself off with a gasp because for a second he could’ve sworn he felt…

Ishida’s lips pressing lightly against his. He feels it again, definitively, and half of his brain melts right then and there. The third kiss is the spark that sets his entire body ablaze, inside and out. Ichigo kisses him back, _hard_ , and digs his fingers into damp fabric. He tugs Ishida against his chest and traps him in the tight circle of his arms. The sound he makes then is close enough to a moan that Ichigo completely loses what’s left of his sense.

He flicks his tongue over Ishida’s lower lip, requesting entry, and feels the sharp intake of breath that becomes a shaky sigh. His mouth parts and Ichigo dives right in, groaning helplessly because the sensation of their tongues rubbing slickly together is the very definition of bliss. Especially when Ishida wraps his arms around Ichigo’s neck, fingers slowly pushing into wet hair as he deepens the kiss a little more.

It’s so much better than he imagined. He still can’t believe this is really happening. And Ishida kissed him first! He’s right here with Ichigo, starving for air and skin contact and the heat they’re building with each passing second. There’s this insane need to be as close as possible rising to crowd out all rational thought and make room for primal instinct. He wants to tear off Ishida’s clothes and kiss him _everywhere_ but the mechanics of such a feat are beyond him at this point. All he can do is hold on and try to remain standing even though his knees keep threatening to give.

_Bed_ , his brain abruptly suggests some time later. It seems reasonable but his limbs aren’t listening. Eventually, he manages to lead them toward his bed but he slips in one of the puddles they’ve been dripping onto the hardwood floor. They go down, but the mattress catches them and it’s good— _so fucking good_ —because now they can concentrate on how their bodies fit together without concern for trivial things like gravity or balance.

It’s Ishida who figures out how much better it can get when he spreads his legs and arches against him. That small movement creates such a powerful jolt of pleasure that they have to take a time-out from making out and just breathe into each other for a moment. He does it again and Ichigo’s stomach drops as if he crested the peak of a roller coaster tipping toward oblivion. Ishida’s hands clench into the back of his shirt and he makes this thin, plaintive noise like he’s cracking apart inside.

“ _Kurosaki_ …”

A shudder shreds down his spine, absolutely obliterating any semblance of restraint. He reconnects their mouths and starts rocking against Ishida the way he has wanted to since that day they exhausted each other in the dojo. The friction and pressure are intense. So is the notion that Ichigo is the one making him excited and breathless and desperate. He’s the one working Ishida into such a frenzy that he can’t say anything but Ichigo’s name.

And when the pleasure becomes so strong that it’s either break for breath or kiss his consciousness goodbye, he buries his face in dark hair and holds on to the back of Ishida’s neck. This ‘very intimate gesture’ destroys whatever resolve he’s been sustaining to keep quiet. Ichigo listens in reverent wonder as he starts moaning on each thrust—short and hushed, yet steadily gaining volume and urgency—until it suddenly stops.

Ishida goes rigid beneath him, not making a single sound as he implodes, and the knowledge that Ichigo just made him come is all it takes to set him off, too.

They gasp and pant against each other’s throats in the aftermath. Ishida’s arms fall limply to his sides and his legs settle more or less straight against the mattress. Ichigo wants to collapse, as well, but he can’t bring himself to move. If he moves, it’s over. He’s not ready for this to be over. He raises up far enough to see Ishida’s face. His eyes open, slowly focusing on Ichigo’s, and a bottomless fear grips him. The fear that he took this way too far.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean—”

“I wanted you to.” Leaning up to kiss him reassuringly, Ishida firmly repeats, “I wanted you to.”

Then they’re smiling at each other and it’s so perfect Ichigo figures he could die a very happy man. He moves to lie beside Ishida, staring up at the ceiling like he can perceive the glowing galaxy beyond and all its hidden secrets.

Shifting uncomfortably in his soggy, sticky clothing, Ichigo says, “We should probably shower before we really do get sick.”

“Yes,” agrees Ishida with an amused smirk. “We definitely should.”

“You go fir—Whoa!” Ichigo yelps as he is dragged out of bed toward the hall. “Ishida?”

“It’s still raining.”

“And…?”

“And your family’s not back yet.”

Ichigo still doesn’t get it until they walk into the bathroom and Ishida locks the door behind them. The implications make him dizzy with desire.

They’re kissing again. Ichigo doesn’t remember stepping forward but there he is, brushing Ishida’s hair back to hold a palm to his jaw. He likes feeling the muscles move under skin as they align lips and tease with tongues. Ichigo’s other hand goes to the hem of a pesky shirt blocking soft flesh he wants to trace with fingertips.

He stops himself to beg, “Please tell me you want this, Ishida.”

“I want this,” he agrees without hesitation. “I want you, Kurosaki. I-I always have.”

Ichigo moans into their next kiss. It’s exactly what he needs to hear, like one of his best dreams come to life. A fresh shot of adrenaline accompanies the resurgence of excitement. He gets a bit over-enthusiastic, advancing too quicly and putting Ishida off balance. They bump into the counter, knocking toiletries onto the floor with a clatter. Ichigo could care less about all that crap, but what makes him pause to rein in his urges is the way Ishida makes a muted sound of discomfort when his hip hits the hard edge.

“Sorry,” Ichigo says, drawing him away from the sink. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s nothing.”

Ishida goes in for another kiss to prove it but Ichigo doesn’t let himself get swept under again. He kisses carefully, almost tenderly because Ishida deserves better than to be _attacked_ like a rabbit at the mercy of a ravenous wolf. Ichigo is interested in a hell of a lot more than just getting off and he needs to make that clear to Ishida right from the beginning. He starts by slowly lifting up his shirt. Ishida helpfully raises his arms, then pulls off Ichigo’s shirt in return. Their hands eagerly map the uncovered expanse of warm flesh. But he feels the tiny bumps triggered by shivers that are only partially due to pleasure.

“Are you cold?” he asks Ishida and rubs his thumb over a stiff nipple in emphasis.

A quick gasp, another shiver, and his teeth lightly tug Ichigo’s lower lip before he answers, “Only on the outside.”

It’s one of the hardest things he’s done in weeks, but he unglues himself from Ishida long enough to flip on the shower faucets and get the water heating. Then Ichigo is right back against him. Now that he has permission to touch, he’d swear he never wants to be anywhere else. Particularly when Ishida’s fingers find his fly and fumble it open. Ichigo loves how out of sync his typically flawless movements have become under the circumstances. It means Ishida is just as lost in this as him. It’s tough to keep calm and poised when you want something so bad you can’t even think straight!

They’re fine with pushing each other’s jeans down but when it comes to underwear they get a little shy. Ichigo plays with the elastic waistband as he nuzzles and sucks at the curve of Ishida’s throat. He can’t bring himself to take that final step. Evidently, it’s mutual because he doesn’t go for Ichigo’s boxers, either.

Ishida saves them from themselves by taking off his own and stepping under the spray. That works for Ichigo. He follows the example and they negotiate for space beneath the cone of hot water like a simple kind of dance. The steam rises to flush their cheeks pink, or maybe it’s the insane rush of lust he feels when he lets his eyes trail down the length of Ishida’s lithe body. His gaze gets stuck just below the belly button and Ichigo tries not to stare—really, he does—but he never thought he’d get to witness incontestable proof of Ishida’s attraction to him. He wants to drop straight to his knees, take it into his mouth and taste it on his tongue.

One more second and he’d be there but Ishida chooses that second to turn away from him, only to reach behind and pull Ichigo against his back. They both moan at the shock of full-body contact, and the way his erection fits snugly against Ishida’s ass as if it belongs there. Ichigo’s arms wind around him on their own, holding him close. Ishida braces one hand to the wall in front of him and curves the other around Ichigo’s hip to keep him steady for a shallow backward thrust. It feels so good his eyes roll back and his mouth falls open.

“ _Fuck_ , Ishida!” he hoarsely exclaims. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come all over your back.”

“Promise?” He does it again, more firmly this time, and takes Ichigo by the wrist to lead it down. “Touch me, Kurosaki.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Ishida gasps and bucks against him as his cock is gripped in a tight fist. Ichigo’s instinct is to go fast and rough but he forces himself to take it slow. He concentrates on the shape of Ishida in his hand and tries to mimic what he enjoys most on the rare occasions he has done this to himself.

Taking his cue from Ichigo’s pace, he undulates smoothly and steadily in place. Ishida lets his head fall forward and starts making those short, hushed noises from earlier. Ichigo wonders what it would take to make him cry out like the euphoria is so intense it almost borders on pain. He immediately resolves to find out some day.

“ _Ishida_ ,” he moans, kissing his shoulder, the back of his neck, the spot between shoulder blades, whatever he can reach without messing up the rhythm too much. “God, you feel amazing…Is it good?”

“No.” Ichigo’s pace falters in surprise. He’s about to ask how he can make it better when Ishida suddenly turns around and shoves him against the tiles with such a predatory look in his eyes that Ichigo barely keeps from shooting off right then. “It’s fucking fantastic.” Ishida presses in close and kisses him deeply. “I’m trying so hard not to come, Kurosaki.”

He groans loudly to hear it. “Me, too. You’re so damn sexy.”

Ishida’s laugh is breathy and warm against his lips. “Do you even know what you do to me?”

Smirking at the praise, Ichigo slides his hands down to squeeze pert cheeks. Ishida’s eyes close as his hips start grinding circles against him. His nails dig into Ichigo’s shoulders but he’s not about to complain when he’s one good thrust away from a truly spectacular orgasm. There’s just one more thing he needs.

“Kiss me, Ishida,” he growls into an ear. “I wanna feel your tongue in my mouth.”

With a throaty moan, he tilts his head and does precisely as requested. Ichigo can’t hold back anymore. He tightens his grip on Ishida’s ass and starts thrusting wildly against him. They’re both trembling, bodies gone taut with impending ecstasy. It hits them at nearly the same time, and Ichigo breaks the kiss on a wordless shout. It feels like his spine is melting even as his stomach clenches so hard he bends forward against Ishida, who is sucking in sharp draughts of air like he just breached the surface of a very deep river.

“Kurosaki,” he quietly calls, kissing him between quick breaths. “Don’t let go.”

It’s just because his legs are too weak to hold his weight yet, but Ichigo solemnly replies, “Never.”

The wide-eyed look Ishida gives him isn’t unexpected. The passionate way he kisses Ichigo for saying it is, though, and he has to wonder if their feelings for each other are already more serious than he assumed.

Once they start to catch their breath and regain their strength, Ishida stands on his own and allows a bit of space between them. He glances down their torsos and smiles wryly.

“We might want to actually wash up at some point. We’ve just made ourselves messier since we came in here.”

“Heh. ‘Came in here’.” He gives Ichigo a flat look for the dirty joke but his smile only widens. “All right, pass me the shampoo.”

“Which one?”

“Whichever one you use. The seaweed stuff or whatever.”

“It’s ‘dead sea minerals’” corrects Ishida without real irritation. “Do you actually think my hair smells like seaweed?”

Taking the bottle he is handed and squirting shampoo into his palm, Ichigo gently lathers dark hair as he responds, “You never let me close enough to tell. Until now.”

“You’re the only one I ever let close,” Ishida says on a sigh as he shuts his eyes and leans into Ichigo’s touch.

That warrants a sweet kiss, if anything does. But one turns into two, turns into three, turns into, “I’m getting hard again.”

Ishida snorts and moves away to rinse. “I don’t want to be in here when the hot water runs out.”

“I can’t believe it hasn’t.”

“Well, the sooner we’re done the sooner we can go back to your room.” When Ichigo doesn’t respond, Ishida quirks an eyebrow and adds, “The sooner we can keep fooling around somewhere dry.”

The incentive serves its intended purpose, spurring Ichigo into action. They finish washing and rinsing in record time.

They’re kissing again before they even make it back to his bedroom. The towel around Ishida’s waist is dangerously loose and low-slung. It takes all of Ichigo’s willpower to resist giving it a tiny tug. He’s staring at the little indentations above Ishida’s ass as he roots through the dresser for pajamas. Ichigo doesn’t bother picking an outfit when he has no intention of putting it on anytime soon.

He walks up behind Ishida and plants his hands against the dresser on either side of him. “You know I can’t let you put those on yet, right?”

“See, this is why I need my own place. How are we supposed to keep our hands off each other if we’re sleeping in the same room every night?”

He’s teasing, mostly, but Ichigo doesn’t think it’s funny at all. Flinging Ishida onto the bed, he climbs astride and warns, “You’re not going anywhere.” He leans close and licks his lips, noting the way blue eyes alight on the motion. “You’ll be lucky if I let you sleep at all tonight.”

“Kurosaki,” he tries to protest but Ichigo sees right past it. Hard not to with the way Ishida’s pupils are blooming black and his breathing is picking up fast. “We have school tomorrow.”

“I’ll take being tired in class,” Ichigo begins, kissing his way down Ishida’s chest, “if it means I can watch you come over and over ‘til you beg me to stop.”

Biting his lip when Ichigo laps at his happy trail, Ishida makes a valiant-yet-futile effort to resist. “When have I ever begged you for anything, idiot? I don’t—”

He cuts himself off with a gasp because Ichigo yanks the towel away and grins to find him well on his way to a healthy hard-on. Ishida can talk back all he wants but he’s not fooling anyone when his own dick is determined to give him up.

Ichigo is too focused on what he wants to do next to see it coming: Ishida abruptly flips them over to pin him instead. He tosses damp hair out of his face and stares down at Ichigo, half angry and half hungry.

“Oh, so you wanna fight, Ishida? No way you’re gonna win when we both know you _want_ to lose.”

“Fuck you,” he flippantly suggests, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I’m stronger than I was the last time we did this.” Dipping down to nip Ichigo’s ear, he threatens, “I won’t hold back.”

“Promise?”

They move at the same time, grappling and rolling and twisting for the upper hand. His towel gets displaced somewhere in the shuffle and Ishida takes advantage by rubbing his thigh against Ichigo’s straining cock. It blanks his brain long enough for Ishida to scoot down and put his tongue in place of his leg. Just like that, Ichigo’s will to rebel is literally sucked away.

“I had no idea you could make noises like that, Kurosaki,” he taunts, stroking when he’s not licking. “You sound like a lost puppy.”

“Fuck…” The word ‘you’ is meant to follow but Ichigo forgets between one breath and the next because Ishida’s tongue is swirling, so hot and silky, in places that really make Ichigo not give a single shit what sorts of noises he’s making. “ _Ishidaaa_ ~”

Ichigo hears a soft laugh in response to his shameless moan. Then he can’t hear anything but the roar of blood in his ears since Ishida is avidly trying to swallow him whole—not quite succeeding but close enough that Ichigo is going to lose his god damned mind if he can’t hit his climax soon. He has just enough sense left to warn Ishida right before, but it makes no difference. Ichigo moans in astonished bliss as he feels a throat swallowing around him. His fingers clench into the blanket, the pillow, whatever is handy because if he doesn’t ground himself somehow he’ll float up into the sky and never come back down.

He opens his eyes in time to see Ishida sit up, wiping the corner of his mouth with a thumb that he then _licks_ _clean_. With a thoughtful hum, he comments, “Salty, but not too bad.”

“Oh my god,” Ichigo groans into his hands, thinking he’s never seen anything hotter than Ishida calmly taste-testing his come. “Are you trying to make it impossible for me to ever stop touching you?”

“At the moment, I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t.”

Yeah, because he apparently had so much fun listening to Ichigo’s ‘lost puppy’ noises while giving wonderful head that he’s still raging hard and more than ready for his turn to be taste-tested.

Ishida doesn’t utter a word of complaint when he is promptly tackled to the mattress and voraciously kissed. Sweeping his tongue inside, Ichigo has to agree he tastes a bit saltier than usual. But he doesn’t let himself get distracted by idle observations. He can’t wait to hear Ishida moan his name and see him make that gorgeous face that lets Ichigo know he’s doing a stellar job as a lover.

That thought trips him up for a second. He is _Ishida’s lover_ now. Officially. Or, as official as it’s going to get without making vows and exchanging rings. Ichigo already knows this is one door he’s managed to open that he can’t ever allow to close.

He slinks his way down Ishida’s body, holding his glossy-eyed gaze as he goes. Those eyes snap shut on the first light lick. Feeling devious, Ichigo can’t help teasing, “Do you want me to suck here, Ishida?”

“Yes, you secret sex-fiend.”

“Hey, you’re the one who went down on me first,” he points out, giving the reddened head a few quick laps just to hear him hiss. “You even swallowed and everything.”

Opening his eyes to force a glare, he reaches out to playfully tug Ichigo’s hair. “You’re the one who humped me into the fastest orgasm of my life.”

“You kissed me first.”

“You confessed first.”

“You still haven’t confessed,” he reminds Ishida, then softly blows on the wetness just to watch him shudder.

“I said I wanted you.”

Ichigo kisses a trail up the shaft and retorts, “Doesn’t count; not the same.”

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he snaps, “If I say it will you quit driving me crazy and do it properly?”

“Sure.”

He uses his grip on orange hair to guide him up so they are face-to-face. Ishida locks eyes with him and unflinchingly states, “I like you, Kurosaki. Ever since you broke that bastard’s nose for me.”

They kiss each other with a very specific type of emotion that Ichigo has never experienced. It makes his heart thud powerfully and his breath ease out contentedly. He pulls away to say, “Come on, you liked me before that. Admit it.”

Ishida rolls his eyes and starts to answer but they both freeze to hear a door opening downstairs.

“ _Shit_. Your family’s home. Hurry and get up so I can—”

“Oh, hell no. I’ve been looking forward to this too long, Ishida.”

“Are you nuts!? One of them could come up here any minute!”

“Then we’ll just have to do this quick and dirty,” Ichigo says with a wicked leer. “Won’t we?”

“Kurosa—” His protest is cut short by a sharp inhale that turns into a low moan. Ishida’s fingers tighten in his hair as Ichigo sets to work, but he kind of likes it. “At least tell me you…locked…the…door… _Aaahn_!”

Ishida claps a hand over his own mouth without being told. Ichigo would laugh if he didn’t currently have most of Ishida’s cock between his lips, sliding toward the base of his tongue. Ichigo doesn’t gag but it’s a close thing, and he realizes there’s a little more to this than he figured. Damn prodigy that he is, Ishida just made it seem easy when he was doing this to Ichigo! He’s not about to lose, though. No way. So, he clears his mind of everything but the task in front of him.

It seems to be working, judging by the way Ishida squirms and hums these helpless little noises like smothered whines beneath his own palm. The frequency increases when Ichigo starts bobbing. He’s getting louder, bit by bit, without even realizing it but he’s also getting close. It’s obvious when Ishida’s hips are subtly pumping in and out of Ichigo’s mouth—just shallow thrusts that he probably has zero control over because it feels that fucking good.

And _damn it_ , Ichigo is getting hard again.

Ishida moves his hand long enough to call his name in warning. Ichigo plans to stay right where he is and finish this like a pro but he’s actually worried Ishida’s sexy voice will travel and get them caught. So, much as it pains him to abandon his post, Ichigo crawls north to kiss him quiet while his fist finishes the job. He makes up for the trade-off by basically tongue-fucking Ishida’s mouth to keep it hot for him while also serving as a decent gag.

Ichigo thinks maybe it’s working too well when he tries to break the kiss for air, but he can’t let Ishida do it. He uses his idle hand to keep him captive with an unyielding grip at his jaw until the exact moment he seizes up, and Ichigo finally lets him breathe as wave after wave of potentially salty fluid spills over Ishida’s belly and chest. Ichigo has a front-row seat to the show, and Ishida’s enraptured expression when he comes is a thing of true beauty.

Just like the other times, the moment of his climax is silent. But the way he gasps afterward is not. Then there’s this long, sated sigh that might as well be considered a moan. It’s not loud but Ichigo panics and kisses him again in case of any other overtly sexual sighs. Once he’s kissing Ishida, however, he doesn’t want to stop. Ichigo is definitely still horny and he’s seriously contemplating borrowing Ishida’s thigh or maybe the cleft of his rear to do something about it.

As if reading Ichigo’s extremely naughty thoughts, Ishida breaks the kiss and twists his wrist at a painful angle to get his attention.

“Ow! What the shit, Ishida?”

“Get off me and put on some clothes before one of your sisters shows up to let us know dinner will be ready soon.”

“Fuck, fine.” He lets go of Ichigo’s wrist and moves to get up, but an arm braced to his chest keeps him in place. “Just one more thing.”

Ishida’s eyes widen, then narrow in disbelief as Ichigo bends over to steal a proprietary taste of the pearlescent liquid decorating his front. Yep, salty.

Before Ishida can break his elbow or something, Ichigo snatches up one of their abandoned towels and hastily wipes the rest of the evidence clean. Then he gets up and tosses the clothes Ishida picked out earlier his way before fishing for some of his own. They get dressed in a hurry, like firefighters responding to The Call, and collapse side-by-side on Ishida’s bed as if it was all a false alarm.

“Tell me again why having a little more privacy would be a bad thing?”

“If you don’t quit bringing that up…”

“What are you so afraid of, Kurosaki? It’s not like I could keep you from visiting whenever you wanted if I tried.”

“Do you hate living with me that much?”

It’s supposed to come out a tad facetious like the rest of their conversation but it mostly sounds petulant. He realizes he accidentally pushed them into Real Talk territory when Ishida stares at him instead of continuing their banter.

“If you still have to ask me that after we—”

“No, I know,” Ichigo backtracks, wearily rubbing a hand over his face. “Forget it. Stupid question.”

“Yes, it is. A very stupid question.” Waiting until their eyes meet, Ishida continues, “But the reason you asked isn’t. What’s really upsetting you?”

“I just…” It is kind of stupid. Ichigo shakes his head, intending to change the subject, but Ishida’s fingers twining comfortingly with his gives him the boost he needs to go ahead and say, “If you move out, I’ll miss you. I don’t want to miss you.”

His features transition from concerned to understanding. He kisses Ichigo and tells him, “Then maybe you should come, too.”

“What?”

“We’re graduating soon, right? Then it’s just summer vacation and on to university. It’ll be no problem finding a nice apartment if we both have part-time jobs.”

He slowly sits up, blinking dumbly at Ishida. “Are you…asking me to move in with you?”

The way he blushes faintly and glances aside makes Ichigo want to hug him and never, _ever_ let go. “I-it’s not like I’m proposing or anything! I’m just saying it makes sense when we’re probably going to the same university anyway and we study well together. We don’t hate each other’s hobbies or habits, either. At least we both know how to cook, so we won’t starve. I guess if I had to pick a roommate, you wouldn’t be the last on my list.”

Ishida is muttering self-consciously by the end but Ichigo’s heart is in genuine danger of exploding from happiness. He scoops Ishida into a crushing embrace that he half-heartedly resists until Ichigo starts kissing him like they’re reuniting after a decade apart.

There’s a knock at the door and they separate reluctantly. Ichigo calls, “Come in.”

Karin pushes open the door and walks inside. She stops when she spots them sitting on the same bed but it’s not strange enough to mention. “Yuzu asked me to tell you dinner’s almost done.”

“Got it.”

The message has been delivered but she doesn’t leave right away. She glances between the two of them and asks, “Didn’t you guys get back over an hour ago?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, why does it look like you just got out of the shower?”

Seeing Karin gesture toward the towels on the floor, Ichigo scrubs at his wet hair and huffs. She’s the sharpest in the family; of course she’d be the first one to suspect the truth. He looks at Ishida with a question in his eyes and gets a slight shrug in return.

“We took a really long shower.”

“You…?” Comprehension dawns and her eyebrows rise. “Oh. Um, okay.”

“Really? Just ‘um, okay’?” Frowning, Ichigo demands, “How come you don’t seem that surprised?”

Karin chuckles and pushes her hands into her pockets. “I mean, it was pretty obvious you had it bad for Ishida-kun since the first day you brought him over.”

“What? No, I didn’t.” Ichigo glances sidelong at Ishida and frowns harder at the smug smile he’s wearing. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well keep it that way,” he grumbles. Returning his attention to Karin, he shares, “Don’t tell Dad, but we’re moving into our own apartment soon.”

“Okay,” she says and turns to leave.

“Hey! Why the hell isn’t _that_ surprising?”

Pausing in the doorway, Karin grins as she replies, “It was pretty obvious Ishida-kun had it bad for _you_ since the first day he came over, too.”


End file.
